Conjugal Visits announce reunion

At last, I am proud to announce that my band Conjugal Visits has decided to reunite for a New Years Eve gig at the Fox and Hound in Lubbock, TX. We have been jamming together for a couple of weeks now, and have put together some new tunes to go along with our normal lineup for the show.

For those of you that don't remember or have simply forgot, here is a rundown of our triumphant and somewhat tumultuous past. My musical career started out when a few young lads from my neighborhood started a cover group called, John McEnroe tennis racket Air Guitar Supply. We played a few living rooms and backyard barbecues in the late 70's and early 80's. One evening, we were playing the Sheriff's office wife swap bash when our tape recorder batteries went dead. Suddenly, everyone realized that it wasn't us, but a recording made with a microphone of Solid Gold. Solid Gold was a show hosted by Marilyn McCoo that spat out the top hits on the chart every week. Our brief but successful career was over and we parted ways.

Later in college, I was on Spring Break at South Padre Island when I was introduced to the magical sounds of C&C Music Factory and the duo group Milli Vanilli. I remember it now as a turning point in my voyage through life. I was passed out in a port-a-shitter next to a tequila bar one morning when through the vents I heard the notes that would change my life forever..."buh buh buh....buh buh buh..BABY..dont forget my NUMBER" I was like, yeah man..thats the shit! and where am I?....is this heaven?...did I O.D? Then next I heard THIS.

I was mistakenly sure I was indeed in heaven, but it wasn't like the preacher described back at church. Surely God had more money than to have the gates of heaven be a plastic door to a chemically hygiene toilet. Anyway, I soon discovered that I wasn't dead but that God had given me a second chance, and with that chance I needed to do something with my life to make it meaningful. After all, I didn't want to die alone without making some kind of 15 minute mark.

So I struck back for home, but before I could get on the road, I took one last trip to Mexico. That night, I got arrested by the Federalies at the border for smuggling street tacos and extra strength no doze. Everyone knows they dont need a reason. But Lo and behold, God sent another sign. In the Matamoros jail, I ran into my old pal from the John McEnroe tennis racket Air Guitar Supply days. It was none other than TR (TR stands for Tape recorder) Roger. We talked for hours about our lives. I found out that TR Rog had been working at various brothels and titty bars along the border perfecting his skills. He called it "two tape recorders and a microphone." I was like, "Dude, that's exactly what I have been looking for." Thus Conjugal Visits was born. I'd rather not say how we came up with the name of the band, it's not as cool as you might think.

We started almost immediately plotting our conquest. You may remember our first album. We released it as an import on our independent label Aborted Inc. It was simply called, Conjugal Visits. We had a small hit and got some airplay with our Reggae remake of No Woman No Cry. TR Rog would mix in some Ratt Round and Round over the part where the back up singers are supposed to sing "no WOman no Cry." Our fans loved it but the Boquillas Times critic didn't see it that way at all, stating "the results of Conjugal Visits should be aborted, not incorparted." I, of course, responded in the editorial page with a letter. It said,

Dear Critic,

You misspelled Incorporated.

MC White Chocolate

Undeterred, Rog and I added another band member that we met after opening at karaoke night at Speeds pool hall. We knew we needed a female that would wear a leather bra and a mini skirt. She called herself Yummy. She was a part time stripper and was studying cosmetics at a local university. Her voice was like a constipated monkey on acid, and what resulted was the birth of Gothic music, at least that is what the insert of our vinyl limited edition remix album said. Rog recorded the sound of dolphins having sex under water from an old VHS of Mutual of Omahas Wild Kingdom. From that, Yummy would screech "I feel dirty! Put some soap on me!" Then I would be background singing, "let's get it on", just like a white guy singing Marvin Gaye. Looking back, I believe that hit from Chamillionaire probably was inspired by us.

It was about that time when Operation Desert Storm and Desert Shield was going, or maybe it was the other way around, anyway...war was in the air. Yummy and I convinced Rog we needed to do a protest album. Looking back, Weapons of Mass Destruction was way before its time. We did a live kazoo cover of Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues WITHOUT the words. Admittedly, it didn't come off well on the album, but was a huge hit with the crowd at our gigs at that time. Another big hit for us was Why Can't we be trade Food for Oil to the tune of Why Cant we be Friends by War. We were sure this was going to be our breakthrough, but disappointing sales and the short duration of the war led to a shakeup in the band.

Yummy decided to go solo and Rog and I then hooked up with an actual musician that played organ at a small church. His name was Anal Roberts. (insert snicker here) From those jam sessions with Anal, we recorded several tracks that were originally on our unreleased Gospel album, Conjugal Visits Religion, then later found public domain on the greatest hits LP, Conjugal Visits Revisited. The best track of those being our tribute cover to Madonna's Papa don't Preach. When we recorded that song in the studio, it was engineered so only the trained ear can hear the sound of Rog playing the original Star Trek theme in the background when you play it backwards. Pretty damn cool.

From that point, we felt that as a band and as artists, we had reached a pinnacle that could not be surpassed. DJ Roger broke all ties and got a job with the National Security Agency. Anal Roberts left the country for Africa and tried missionary work, but it wasn't a fit. He later came back and got into pharmaceutical sales. I started and failed many other tribute band projects after the Conjugal breakup. My rap group C.W.A. (Crackers With AK-47's) had a small following in parts of Alabama and Mississippi but never took off on the big stage. I fell into a 10 year depression without my mates.

To everyone's surprise, Yummy and Anal had met on a networking personal website and began to date. They grew into love and decided to get married just last month. At the reception, TR Rog and I were coaxed into getting onstage and perform with Anal and Yummy. All of the old stuff just poured out and we knew that we had all found what we had been missing all these years.

Our new album is tentatively called Conjugal Visits: After Execution. I have included some statements below from yesterday's press conference announcing our comeback.

MC White Chocolate "We have decided to only cover dead artists on this album because, as a group, we were dead. In many ways, we can never be the band we once were, but by doing only songs by the dead, they and us..... can still speak today."

Yummy, "its not like were this old band that got back together to do just reunion shows together, we also want to say that we can make another album, maybe not as good as the ones you used to buy and like, but maybe you'll buy this one and hope it is as good as the old ones that were good, you know what I'm saying."

TR Roger "Recorded music re-recorded still has an audience man. We do want to prove that we can still record in that way.... because that is the essence that made us the art in artistic ways that no other people thought possible."

Anal "I just want to say that I am in pharmaceuticals...you know..and we were..in our time...just like the generic drugs that are sold today..accept we are in music you know."


Random reporter, "What about the new audience and generation that have never heard of you, how will you sell in the Internet driven media?"

MC White "Let me just answer that by saying this. We originated pirating others music and passing it off as our own."



Our show lineup for New Years Eve:

Gonna Make You Sweat (Sanford and Son theme mix)
Hawaii 5-O / CHiPs theme interpretive dance
Papa Don't Preach
Subterranean Homesick Blues
Lost in Love/ Folsom Prison Blues mix
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald (video bouncing ball sing along)
A Capella Kashmir
Baby Don't Forget My Number/ Girl, I'm gonna miss you/ Oops, I Did it again (light show mix)
Dukes of Hazzard theme in spoken word


Hope to see you at the show and may you have a Conjugal Visits New Year!

Float On

Float On was a semi-popular song from the 70's by The Floaters aptly enough. I would provide a link but I'm being lazy and I don't feel like wasting your time. Basically the song......oh snap...the semi-retarded guy that works for me got a new cell phone for Christmas and it plays the damn OU fight song when it rings. It is too perfect around here most nights. Meat Store...late night...retarded guy that loves OU....carne guisada burrito....smoking cigarettes.

The words of David Byrne and Brian Eno roll through my head

Once in a Lifetime

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself: Well...How did I get here?

Letting the days go by; let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by; water flowing underground
Into the blue again; after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime; water flowing underground.

It is my favorite Talking Heads tune.

So anyway, before I was rudely interrupted by the Boomer Sooner song I was about to launch into this analysis of 70's soft rock and groove that centered around infidelity and picking up chicks. It was going to be a masterpiece, but never mind. I will instead just give you the Sportcenteresque highlights.

The best in my opinion is Give it to me Baby by Rick James. Before you click the link and listen, which I highly suggest you do if you would like to be put in a damn good mood instantly, focus on the lyrics. Rick is saying that he got drunk and would like to make love. He doesn't want to hear any excuses because no matter what the excuse is, Rick is going to make it bad ass. Cool right? I'm very sure its his answer to Loretta Lynn's Don't Come Home a Drinkin.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFmQAQ9EDeM


Consequences





Please enjoy my second favorite tune from the Talking Heads and read on. I remember picking this CD up a few years back. I never would play it for my small town buddies for fear of being outcast from them for having music taste. It's not to say they didn't have any, they did, I did, we did. I just that unwritten rule of herd mentality. It's what I like to term as grey-ghey. More on this later..time to go.

New Year Resolution tips

Its a rare day that I give advice on life skills. Here are a few that have worked for me recently, so I thought I might share.

1. Shut up and listen.

Simple concept but very hard to accomplish. I'm not going to ramble on and explain the upside to this. Try it and maybe you will learn something about yourself and gain better relationships with others.

Example: Employee with no brains because they have been strung out on drugs since the latter part of the 20th century starts explaining the intricacies of meat business to you. (it doesn't have to be the meat business..but work with me here.) Instead of arguing the concepts such as economy of scale and business ethics, try nodding your head and pretend like you are actually listening. It makes them feel validated. If they ask you a question, simply say verbatim this exact phrase. "hmmm...you know you might have something there. I'll look into it." Then you never do and they forget anyway so it's a win-win for everyone. This will work well whenever the subjuect of resolutions comes up around the shop, trust me.

2. Get ahead and then stay there.

It's easy to win when your ahead in the game, and this works for resolutions too. Did any of the U.N. resolutions work in Iraq? or anywhere else for that matter. Have any of your past personal resolutions worked out well? If your answer is not NO, then it should be. Why torture yourself with tons of goals and life changing 4 e-z payments of $19.95 bullshit. (unless its a really cool Time-Life Sounds of the 70's collection.) Without a resolution, or an even worse plurality of such, you will spare yourself another let down.

3. Torture the people around you.

Be the guy that suggests the buffet for lunch at the office on January 2nd. Be the girl that sleeps around with the every new hire that walks through the door. Okay, that may not be torture. Hell, sleep with the boss too while your at it. I'm just throwing these out because I think I would like to meet the office trollope with "quit banging the guys at work" as a resolution. Those people exist.
What good will this world be with more people feeling less than what they already do about their petty existence. Think about it. You have to fight fire with gasoline. Pour it on when they fail and watch them think twice about making more rules for 2009. I bet that monk that poured gasoline on himself in 1960 something wouldn't do that again.

4. If you must, try something that works.

If your unhappy with your circumstances, and feel the need for change. Just do this one thing every day and I promise things will get better for you.

Drink Alcohol.


Just kidding. But if you have an addiction problem, like internet midget porn or qualudes before 7th grade homeroom...I suggest you try moderation. Oh great, now I sound like I've been watching reruns of Donahue on Beta, but I digress. Seriously, maybe your not a screwed up as everyone else by comparison. I know you have read this thought before from me, but it never hurts to hang out with people that have less going for them than you do. It always helps my self esteem, and that after all is the trancedence of mind we all seek. Que the Pink Floyd man!

5. Parting with old aquaintences

Why should we forget them again? I never understood that song or how the entire cast of Love Boat never got a paying gig after years of powerful acting performances. Plus, I must admit that I do not know the words. I usually start out fine like everyone else with the lyrics, but it gets garbled and mixed in my head...and I still do not understand why we are supposed to forget everyone and never something something something...auld lang's eye or ain or whatever..just give me a kiss and dont spill the champagne.

Wes Welker cannot be stopped

http://www.boston.com/sports/football/patriots/articles/2007/12/03/yes_welker/

I'm completely biased about the subject of this article, but give it a read. The next sentence makes me smile. Wes Welker is the greatest player I have ever seen put on a Red Raider uniform. I remember being at the Tangerine Bowl a few years back and this Clemson fan we were tailgating next to said, "Your best player couldn't even start for us." He was talking about Wes.

Wes returned a punt for a touchdown to break open the game. After the end, the same guy stops me as we were getting into the car to return to Lubbock. I will never forget his face after I said, "Wes Welker cannot be stopped."

If symptoms continue..

This is day 87 or so of coughing, sneezing, and general bad health. I think last year was the only time I did not get ill during the change in seasons. I didn't work, I ate healthy, and lost a ton of weight because I was getting pumped at the gym. The weight is still off, I eat semi-healthy, and I get little aerobic exercise. I am sick because I work all the time.

Work=sick and Unemployed=healthy.

That doesn't exactly fit into Immanuel Kant's 'categories', but I'm no German philosopher and all I wonder about is how cool it was for him to just sit around and think and write. From what I remember from college, he isolated himself from his friends, and made up this stuff to ponder that hardly anyone other than the professors and eager debate students really cared to understand. I was the debater that quoted him, but didn't fully grasp the content. However the perception that I did understand come to find out proves some of his writing true....I guess.

One thing I like about my limited knowledge and understanding of philosophy, is that it's like hanging out with fat people. First, most people I hang out with have no knowledge whatsoever. Those that do cant keep it straight. So by comparison, I feel better about myself having a 38 waist than having a 50 size IQ. It's all about space and time in this reality of dimensions.

Chick movies I like

I saw this movie called The Holiday this weekend. I guess it came out last year. It was good. I hate to admit this, but I watched way too much football this weekend and needed something different. Because I'm comfortable in my sexuality, I can admit that I like chick flicks.

Maggie Dawg Update

The greatest dog of all times is in good shape, although I think she is starting to slow down now. I use to get upset at her when she would crawl in bed while i was gone, spreading hair, leaves, and dirt all over the sheets. Now that she is 10, I don't get upset. I am just glad she is around to irritate me. What will irritate me more is when she isn't going to be around. Here's to a good 6 more years.

Political Pundit Shows

I tried to watch Meet the Press and be interested. The only thing I like about the show now is all of the historical footage from shows past. The current show with Tim Russert is good, but the content is just too depressing. Only so many ways to try and spin chicken shit into chicken salad.

The best of Sunday Morning jerk

CBS had an interview with Steve Martin yesterday morning. I never get tired of seeing that wild and crazy guy play the banjo. He said that he quit stand-up many years ago and has never been back, but I sure wish he would. One of my favorite songs as a kid was King Tut.

Worst last name ever.

I'm interviewing a man with the last name BASTARDO in the morning. It was hell holding in my laughter over the phone while booking that appointment. (looking at resume') "So Misterrrrr Bastardo? and your first name?...let's just go with that. What was your family life like growing up?...hahahaha..just kidding."

Thanks for nothing

Stay sexy Lubbock, you beautiful city by the bay! We got our first freeze a few weeks back, but now that turkeys are being glazed and the cotton is being stripped it's that time to give unwarranted (or unwauranteed) wisdom. I serve it up cold.

1. I give thanks that I'm not eating a Thanksgiving dinner in L.A. made by El Pollo Loco (it's a fast food chain) while wondering if my now ex- girlfriend is going to give me another scratch and right cross. It's the thought that matters this time of year, or is that saying reserved for Xmas? In any case, all I can say to you is, if the dinner sucks, order out to Pedro's Tamales.

2. I am thankful that I have no outstanding warrants or judgements like many of my employees do. Just today I got a letter from the Attorney General of Texas ordering such and such and lawyer talk to take money from an employee and give it to their office. I would do so, but the guy is an independent contractor. (Please feel free to give advice below on this if you know what I'm supposed to do here, my corporate office hasn't the slightest idea what to do either.)

3. I think it is remarkable how many people are hooked on dope, getting divorced, and have 6 children by four different parents. I don't know if that makes sense, but I think its great that despite my problems, others have it much worse. Face!

4. I am thankful that in 2007 The Police decided to tour again. That is the best thing that happened in my opinion. That and the fact that Notre Dame has lost 9 games. Must be a sign of the end times.

5. I think I made a decision regarding my personal political and religious beliefs. First, no religion. Second, no politics. Third, I worship the giver of unconditional love, the Maggie dog. But I am looking into Scientology, just for kicks. I was thinking of getting my salespeople some Bibles they could give away with every sale just to cover my ass if I'm wrong. (For those of you playing along at home, that is satire.)

6. If the devil is six, then God is Seven. The Pixies rock, and I'm thankful I am cool like the cool kids still whilst the rest of you are paying two grand so your offspring can see Billy Ray Cyrus's jail bait daughter. Achy Breaking your broke overmortaged behind on the 3 year lease payment on the 13 mile a gallon Hummer you thought would be pratical had the government not invaded a country for no reason but did it anyway because they lied to you and knew that you wouldn't really care. Time to unpimp your ignorance and get a VEEEE DUBYAH!

7. I am thankful for grain fed Black Angus cattle producers and meat packing plants. Without you I would still be struggling, and I am happy to be your middle man between you fine folks and the red meat eating world. Never mind that I eat organic food. Self corruption has an upside.

Ocho. I am thankful for my friends and family, and some but not all of the people I work for and with. Eat, be happy, and take a nap.

You want pumpkin pie with that?

I rarely eat fast food but today I got caught at work with no time so I went to Whataburger. Evidently, they sell pumpkin pie now. I guess maybe they are cashing in on the Halloween craze. Why is this Halloween holiday such a big deal that the employee that weighs 500 pounds must point out they sell pumpkin pie. "It's only 99 cents." Can I just get my preservatives and sodium and be on my way without being harassed? I hate advertising executives and I love them.

I hate the ones that come up with Toby Kieth and "This is our country" truck ads. I like the ones that came up with the double bubble butt and extra blubber ads. I hate that Subway continues to pound that assclown Jared, or Jarod, or whatever into my head. I'm still not buying no sammich in hopes of losing 470 million pounds. Workout and quit drinking soft drinks and the math works out in your favor. Only Whitey was fat in Leave it to Beaver, everybody else was skinny and had real ass pumkin pie at Mrs. Cleavers. Get it?

Maybe there isn't something there should be in the food, and maybe there is a whole lot of stuff there that shouldn't. I think by now you've heard that message. But then again, I know how tough it is to do the right thing in this culture. Must chase bucks to buy trucks, because after all our blubber asses aint gonna fit in no Pinto.

Weird Work Stuff

I hired a girl at work. She has a a big ring on her lip and wonders why people in Lubbock wont give her the time of day. No big deal, but I don't see how she has failed to make a connection. I hired a new guy this week with dime size holes in his ear with some sort of heavy duty plastic surrounding the hole that I suppose keeps it open. I asked, "does that hurt?" He said, "What?" I said, "the hole in your ear that I can see the back wall through." He smiled and said, "Yeah, sometimes."

Okay, I think to myself, if this is causing you pain and possibly a hinderence to your ability to sell food on commission, then maybe he might think of removing it. I'm guessing the hole isn't going to grow back, so screw it. No need to say anything. Like one of the "Bob's" said in Office Space. "He wont be recieving a check anymore, so it will just work itself out." SO instead of explaining my thought, I betrayed him and said, "Cool."

I work for one of those sales companies that promises the world in a 3 line want ad. It attracts some interesting characters. Hey, I answered it and look at me now. It's not like I'm doing blow on hookers asses on lear jet to Aculpulco (I wouldn't really do that.), but I'm getting ahead. Not sure anyone else is, and further, I am not sure I'm satisfied with that. Maybe it's best to avoid confrontations, and better yet remember that saying about the cover of a book. Or maybe that is just a cop out. Oh well, the checks don't bounce.

Don't you hate it when you had something extremely witty to type then you forget it?

I just did that.

"This is why I'm Hot"


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVckVtf-7Lk

Watch this video, well maybe a few seconds of it. Ronnie G and I love this song. We like to change the lyrics. Like we sing together, "I forgot to pay my light bill...this is why I'm hot (repeat 40 times)"

So On and so on through the song.

"I wore a sweater in August...."

"I ran a marathon.."

It's shmarmy white people humor. I'm not going to pretend it isn't.

Coffee is for closers!

On the excuse for missing work front this week, we have had one Diabetes diagnosis and three children sick, but there is some good news. Remember the wife that got a fractured ankle? Miraculously, she came to the office without a cast or crutches to pick her husband up from work. She gave me the most curious look when I inquired about her health. Maybe the miracle cure had a side effect of abnesia. The heaps of bullshit I climb through require a body suit of false empathy.

In other businesses, I'm sure that type of behavior would yield a dismissal, but not here. Like pledging Flounder to Delta Chi in Animal House, "We need the dues." Speaking of fraternitites, I've been on quite a run selling meat to Greeks in the local area. I drive around neighborhoods looking for Greek letters on cars, pull in and exchange money for goods. I am more popular around the KA house now than I ever was in college. Finally, my affiliation is paying off. The guys want me to come out for the Margarita Bash with the Chi Omegas next weekend. Good times.

Positive "Mental" Attitude

It is amazing what the mind wonders off to if your not preoccupied with television and the state of affairs and court cases in Hollywood. I heard O.J. got arrested again. I don't care. I hear lots of things at the bar twice a week. My friends and I mostly talk about which 20 something young women are good looking and promiscuous. They all are, but evidently more attracted to the younger and less easy towards us. What do we really know? None of ever gives a real effort to find out. Besides, our bar reminds of the opening scene in King of the Hill with the dudes all lined up sipping beer and saying little. I'm not complaining. I've had more dates in the past three months than I've had in the last 5 years. This silver fox action on my head has some advantages.

It's just like that old saying about clubs. I don't want to join the ones that would have me as a member. That's a joke but there is truth in it. The truth is I just don't want to join the divorced with children club. I liken it to lost luggage on an airplane. One time a few years back, the airline delivered someones luggage to me and then refused to take it back. I finally traded for my stuff back, but only after a couple of weeks of hassle. Just last week I had to dump a woman I started dating a few weeks ago. 14 text messages a day with heart signs and kiss faces was just too much. (That is a huge red flag with the smiley face shaking its head.) The deal breaker is she would hang out at my bar waiting for me to come in, then would sit there and overindulge in public displays of affection. My friends were even embarrassed. What the real problem was is she was breaking our King of the Hill routine, and that simply cannot be done. I thought about changing my number and lying to her by giving her the Continental Airline baggage reclaim hot line, but that would be too mean. So I shot myself in the foot by ignoring her, but all that did was make her want me more.

Stories from the meat office.

I have an employee that works in the warehouse. His name is simply J. He is mentally retarded and can't read much beyond a third grade level. When I took over managing our office, I inherited his services. Honestly, he tries hard and he does do his best. I move past the fact that he can't count the inventory or keep a loading log straight, even though those are the two significant duties needed to fulfill the position. I keep him around for this reason. J likes to tell stories. J loves to tell the same story of a nude bar in Amarillo called The Jungle.

There is something hilarious about a goofy toothed Oklahoma native telling stories about strippers with chewing tabacco juice oozing from the canyon gaps between his teeth. I just remembered my mother reads this, so I will spare the details of the black stripper named "Cherry" and J. The stories always end with him giggling like a pre-pubescent male reading Penthouse forum letters. My wharehouse manager and I get a big kick out his musings. You just have to be here, which we are all the time.

I got this job because the last manager stole two nightly deposits over the Labor Day weekend and blew it on a crack binge. When I came back to work after the holiday, he hit me up for a $500 loan stating I would get in on the ground floor in a "business opputunity." I considered his application and decided that blowing my money on his crack habit was not a good investment, so I declined. He promptly left the office with his wife and two kids and I haven't seen him since. Such a shame, 10 years waiting on his big chance at management and he blew it in 4 weeks.

The manager before him had a crystal meth addiction. He took from the inventory to sell and had a habit of not accounting for the missing items. If your following along here kids, the moral is drugs make you do stupid shit that is bad for business.

The manager before crackhead and meth-man was just a crook. He was in Jesus band back in Oklahoma City, also the hometown of the previous two mentioned. He got fired after the 7th customer paid by check, manager cashes check, then manager doesn't deliver product. The first time would have been enough for me. I guess there really is some appeal to bass players afterall.

There was one before him but he quit to persue this business solo. I didn't get to know him well even though he hired me. In any case, its on me now.

Just yesterday, one of my new part time salesman stumbled upon a sale. He presented the meat and was paid with a forged check. The police got involved, but nothing will happen. We got screwed and some asshole is eating choice cut Angus steaks for free. I hope he chokes on the T-Bone.

Let me tell you about the run of bad luck incurred by my employees. Just this week we have had two cousins die in car accidents, and a brother die of cancer. One wife recieved a fractured ankle at work, and another simply had the flu. I feel like Vice Principal Ed Rooney in Ferris Bueller...."he's been absent NINE times!"

The true stories are the better than the fake ones, at least that is my experience thus far.

What's Happening Now?

I have been doing this new thing called working for a living. Less time for trivial boastings and opinion, so that should explain my absence. Hard to really determine when and how your life can change. It does, you do what you do, and so it goes until something happens again. One thing I've noticed and continued to take advantage of in my new career is: people are selfish. I guess I always thought of that as a negative trait, but so is judging other people. Since I have learned to apply that towards monetary benefit for myself. I've decided to re-evaluate selfish and judgement. It works out alot better when you are directly benefiting by the way.

In less that three months, I have moved from salesman, to the top salesman in my office, to the top salesman in the country, to the manager of my office. Quite a leap, especially for those of you following along in our home game. I just walked in off the street one day broke, and now I'm not. I can make it rain cash. That is a nice feeling to have even though I dont make it rain.

I turned 36 a month ago today. I feel pretty good about it. I got a good gig going, a humble but clean house to live in, and I always got the Maggie dog and my friends. The family has had a few rocky moments, but somehow i think that is all past and the best times are yet to come. Hell, I even broke down and bought a subscription to Pravda a few weeks back. That should tell you something. What is even better is that there were no phycholotrophic drugs involved. Good for me.

It is football season. I can't help it, but it is really dumb how it makes me feel better to know that the OU fans are crying, the UT fans are moaning, and A&M is in turmoil. Sure, we lost to Okie Lite. That sucked, but all the losses do. It helped we beat LSU Barber College by almost 70 points. Michael Crabtree. All the friends and I say to each other now is simply, "Five." Nothing else needs to be said after.



What happened to Twila?

She is still around doing the deal. So am I.

get off of my cloud

There must be some kind of way out of Lubbock, said the voter to the mayor. There is too much confusion, I can't get no satisfaction or property tax relief. Nevermind the big brother light cameras. If the Supreme Court can blatantly omit the comprehension of free speech. I suppose the City of Lubbock can justify ignoring rights and violation of probable cause. The current mayor may top the former one. Remember McDougal mayor, eminant domain, and McDougal Properties development? There is no need for worry, the courts will surely meet out justice. Think again. What's so funny? A local AM station manager said it was because the City Council was stacked with Democrats. Yeah right, and the Rangers won the World Series last year too.

I just got paid today, got me a pocket full of change that will be useless at the ZZTop concert next month. There is no beer today or any day, cause you can't buy beer at the Spirit Arena. I wish Gov. Perry was in bed with the beer lobby too. But hey, this is Texas and integration of church upon State is the rule and never the exception. Except when Rick took a contribution from the Pharmacuetical lobby, and when Jesus needs a Autobahn built by a company from Spain to ship goods from Mexico to Canada displacing the farmers by eminant domain with our money we don't have. The farmers fight for Rick Perry last fall, then he buries them like dead collies in the concrete of 'free' trade.
"That's what we get for electing a bunch of Democrats that were really disguised as Republicans." I said to the spinster of "conservative" values on the airwaves that bounce off the atmosphere. Next thing you know, Bush will decide to flip parties. Perhaps this nightmare is like a bad 'Scooby-Do' episode, where the bad guy was really Ralph Nader all along.

Five

It costs 5 dollars for a Sunday New York Times in Lubbock, Texas. It also costs 5 dollars in gas to find a business that sells it, thank you unmentionable large coffee conglomerate. I passed on the 5 dollar mochachino frape' with kung fu grip in favor of all the news that's fit to print. Did you get all that?
I travelled the 5 miles back to the 'Stubbs' subdivision 'jonesing' for folgers. 5 bucks for cigarettes and 5 bucks for milk to compliment my breakfast. I found myself in the heat and humidity fit for a June Sunday in the Hubaplex. I spent 5 minutes retrieving the perfection of paper slash morning coffee breakfast bliss.
The Pixies exclaimed in my head, 'If the devil is six, then God is Seven! God is Seven! God is Seven! I must be Five I thought, not in the context of age, but just as a being. As I sipped my Lubbock water Folgers, I realized there were five words in this sentence. This monkeys gone to heaven.
Other than hearing the words 'Touchdown Red Raiders!' or the United Spirit Arena announcer utter 'Darryl Dora THREEEEE!', my favorite thing is lazy Sunday morning peace and quiet. That and the 5 seconds of anticipation of what is..... and what may become.....when beginning to read.

Deeper truths lie behind Rick Perry's actions

Thanks to Jesus and the electorate, Texas was spared from the horror of Chris Bell and Kinky Friedman. The electorate has seen fit to trust the great Governor to protect us from the special interests. So what if a few more rights are abused or pockets are lined in the process.
Texas Farm Bureau, an insurance company with a convienient political membership slash lobby arm endorsed Perry. Now they are upset the Great Governor has vetoed a bill protecting farm property. How stupid can you be to not see how an Autobahn through central Texas built by a contractor from Spain is far greater a benefit than some of the richest farm land in the world.

I am so glad I live in Lubbock Kounty! These Republicans are making me safer with red light cameras. I thank them for promoting and settling out of court with corrupt and ineffective employees. Our property taxes could have gone up much more than the 30 plus percent over the last 3 years.
Just yesterday 'pravda' published a negative comment in an editorial opinion about state politics. We must be going to hell soon especially if they progress from negative to harsh.
I also think it is about time we had more Bible in the public schools. All that seperation of church and state nonsense wasn't near as good as people had it in Europe before Jamestown. I just hope we can get a monarchy theocracy type thing where we can have a true two class system with aristocracy rules instead of the law. Then I think we can secure the border, defeat Al Queda, and ultimately put a big ass Air Conditioner to cool down the planet. None of that stuff really bothers me as much as OU cheating and winning. If Rick wanted to impress us he could at least get the Texas Autobahn built through Norman. Bulldoze and salt the football stadium. Then annex the place and make a Texas Community College. The great Governor vetoed funding health care for those employees anyway, so the education level for football players there can remain the same.
I know that part doesn't jive, but neither does politics.

The return of Russ

Warning: This will be poorly written. Arguably, all my posts are so keep your expectations low.

I'm still working on the Twila story. It is slow going as I am studying for a securities exam. Economics and reality of daily life demand I gain an income. Yawn.
I am currently fascinated by the lack of responsible journalism produced by our local paper. It is my opinion is not really interested in opinion. It has a section devoted to it. The depth of analysis is liken to a trailer park kiddie pool.
In the midst of the most contraversial legislative session since the Sharpsburg scandal, the local paper exhibited integrity of Pravda and the analysis of John Madden without the obvious.
Enough of that, I wish them luck on Texas Ave. and only remind them that by losing respect of reporting FULL stories, it won't be long until you lose the respect of your readers. To err on the side of omission is a disgrace. Please notice that I reciprocate that disrespect because the name that you publish on the front is no longer worthy of mention.

Land of Enchantment

I pulled into Ruidoso about 10pm after dropping Maggie off at an old friends house. No dogs allowed at The Inn of the Mountain Gods. The boys were probably just settling into the Casino, so I checked into the resort. They had left a room key for me, so I went upstairs to drop my stuff off before I took off to find them. As I was walking down the hall, I smelled this horrible odor emanating from the door of my room. Just great! I open the door and found Rodney inside smoking a joint.

"Rodney, what the hell are you doing, man? Jeez that stuff stinks."

"It's for my glaucoma. Prescription. heeheehee." Rodney was stoned and probably drunk. Whatever man.

"Bullshit, how in the hell? When did you start smoking weed?"

"I done tole you its for my glaucoma. Dr. Barnes gave me a prescription for it and I'm supposed to smoke weed now. heeeheeehaaw. Can you believe that? Heheheehaaw."

Rodney didn't fool me. He looked older than his age, but he damn sure didn't have glaucoma. Rodney was a rough and tumble good ole boy through and through. It's doubtful he had been out of Lubbock but 5 times in his life, and at least 3 were trips with the gang to Ruidoso, and that might as well be Lubbock on the weekends. He loved two things in this life. His son and his friends.

Rodney regaled us with stories at the bar on Tuesday nights. Cleaned up the next night and never failed to have dinner with his teenage son. My favorite recount was when Rodney spiked the brownies in his high school Home Economics class with marijuana.

"the assignment was the meal had to include differnt colors. We HAD GREEN! hehheehaw. Them girls sure did liike me."

I immediately started to think of that while I tried to muddle through the weed smell. His favorite saying about Lubbock is,

"I remember when you could be drivin down Quirt Ave hopped up on qualuudes, and nobody would say nothin."

Those must have been the good old days. You did it now, you were being watched on the big brother light camera. Rodney hadn't messed with those things since then and I was worried he might drift back into the drug use. I guess Dr. Barnes fixed that for him.

"Damn it Rodney, why dont you go sober up so we can go have some fun."

"I'm having enough fun right here, hell I dont gamble anyway. I'm just going to stay here and drink some pre-paid beers."

'Pre-Paid Beers' is another Rodney euphemism. If he has beer in his 30 year old Styrofoam Shlitz cooler, they were deemed pre-paid beer. Any other beer is bought from a bar and put on a tab, therefore it isn't paid for yet.

"Go for it bro..Chief and Ron downstairs?"

"Yep, as soon as we got in Chief ran over to the roulette wheel, put a five hunnert on red and hit it. Heeheehaaaw. That Chief, he is somethin else. He hadn't even been to the room, paid an Indian to take his shit up for him. I guess we'll see him tomorrow fer lunch. heeheehaaw."

"Well, I'll go down and see if he has his house deed up for action. Check ya later, and lay off the doobage, I'd like to sleep tonight."

"Alright man. Ya'll call me if you get soom women goin down thare."

I took a trip through the Casino and spotted Ron at the bar. He had a throng of people around him. He knew every single persons name and introduced me to them all, recited where they worked, and gave me the rundown on their marital status and sometimes even knew what their parents did for a living. Ron had a mind like a steel trap when it came to knowing people from Lubbock.

"Dude, what took you so long? Where the fuck you been? I thought you were hauling ass!"

Ron, the Jetta aint no Mazzarati. I took my time and enjoyed the scenery."

Ron smiled, "I guess we could have done this for alot cheaper if we had just stayed home. Everybody is always from Lubbock."

"Yes, France has the Riviera, L.A. has Palm Springs, New York has the Hampton's, and Lubbock has a shithole Indian Casino in the mountains of New Mexico."

"Good times." Ron was feeling no pain and just happy to be in a bar.

"You going to gamble?" I already knew the answer to this question. In all of our trips to Ruidoso, Ron sat in the same seat at the bar munching on nachos, sipping on beers, and bullshitting with people.

"Hell no man, Damn Chief is going crazy and I can't roll with him. He talks me into crazy ass bets that he seems to win, but I never can. I might try tomorrow, but for now I'm just happy checking out the ass." Ron felt uncomfortable betting a quarter, much less his paycheck.

"Alright then, I'll go see if I can calm Chief down."

"Hold on dude, that chick Twila, she was at the bar last night with some big dude."

"Really, that was prolly Struts or Rex. No big deal. I forgot to call her. Damn."

"No man, this dude was huge and looked like he was...well, he was big and had a bunch of tattoos and muscles and shit. It wasn't those football players. They weren't with her. This dude was pissed off at Twila too. Kept yelling at her and kinda pushing her around. She came by and cussed me out because she couldn't find you. She looked like shit bro. She looked scared too. I don't know what the story is, but you might want to steer clear of her for a while. That guy was scary."

I felt a cool chill down my body and also felt the jealousy creeping in again. "Really? Man Ron, you might be right about staying away. But I just don't think I can do that now."

"You like her? Oh shit Russ. I have seen this before. Don't go off the deep end with this one. Twila is trouble bro. I'd find someone else more your speed."

I sat down and had a shot with Ron in silent thought. He was right. I do go off the deep end and chase women I shouldn't have any business being with. But he knew that despite his warning. I was going to chase her anyway. I was hooked on Twila. I was scared for her too.

Even the losers, get lucky sometimes

Chief was at the craps table, looking haggard from a long day at work and even longer trip out west. He was like a moth drawn to light. Focused on every nuance of the action. Pen and paper in hand charting each and every roll and the tendencies of each roller. He doesn't sleep the entire time we are there, and only takes one break to have lunch with the gang at our favorite local eatery in town. Chief is amazing. If he sleeps, its because all of the dice tables are closed. I think that happened once during a renovation.

If I made up those fake motivational posters that can be found on the internet. I would photoshop a picture of Chief during a roll at a Dice table and the caption would read.

Gambling: Doing the same thing over and over again expecting positive results.

or better yet.

Tenacity: never quit until your broke.

But in the entire time I had known Chief, he was never broke. The guy oozed cash at all times. He could walk into a rigged card game and catch the miracle card to screw the shysters out of their stacks. He was remarkable. He paid every tab, bought every lunch, and picked up every hotel bill every time we were in Ruidoso. Otherwise, Ron, Rodney. and I would probably be back at the local tavern. I on the other hand was the anti-thesis of Chief at gambling. I lived for the pain.

"You want some of this!" Pointing at his huge chip stack of $25 greens, $100 Blacks, and $500 pinks.

"Damn Chief, what the hell? How do you do this?"

"I go to church every Sunday and the Lord likes me, that's all it is." Grinning the grin of the charmed life.

I bellied up beside him, and he pushed me $500 in chips. "Start there and I will try and cover your losses." Laughing like he already knew the result.

"Not this time Chief, I'm going to heat up, I can feel it." I better, I guessed that the running tab I had with Chief over the last 8 years was something like $7000 or so. I had one hot streak in 2002 and left Ruidoso with $100 extra. But that was because I caught Montezuma's revenge after the first night of playing poker, and spent the rest of the weekend in the bathroom. Chief never asked me for repayment. I gave him money now and again, but he never seemed to care whether it was repaid. He really didn't. It wasn't about the money for Chief. He liked the action and thrill. He was a lucky person. If you have ever heard about lucky stories about slim odds gambling wins. Chief was the main character most likely.

Soon, it became Chief's turn to roll. He announced to the table. "Everybody better load up. I'm going to bust this joint in 45 minutes." Then a cheer came from the gamblers. Chief's exploits were known far and wide, and everybody did as he said to do.

On and on for 45 minutes like Chief said he would. He hit point after point. He hit Hard eights, and loads of sevens and elevens at the right times. The pit bosses were gathering around in concern. You would think they would ban him, but they just couldn't. Somebody had to win. Inside 20 minutes a crowd was gathering and pushing chips into the middle. It would take the dice crew 30 to 60 seconds to pay off the bets after each roll. The table looked like a rainbow mountain range. All around it were people so happy, they were screaming and moaning in orgasms of greedy delight. It was Chief's creation. He never smiled or stooped to admire his creation. He was the artist and we were the visitors seeing his art while it was being made.

I seriously began to question my aversion to Christianity by the 40th minute of Chief's triumphant roll. The Himalayas of chips were now mounted on this one roll. Sweat was beading from his brow. I screamed at people.

"NOBODY FUCKING TOUCH HIM!"

He looked at me without smiling, glee of chips on the table reflected off his deep green eyes. I loved him I thought. Then he said.

"This is IT Russ, get it in now!"

He looked at me, but I just couldn't. I had made $2,000 on this long roll and I just couldn't give it all back on this one. I thought to myself, it has to end sometime. So I kept my same bets out there as is and he coolly lifted his eyes off me and said.

"The point is eight people, one time, HAAARRRRD EIGHT!" Chief had $1,000 alone on that space on the table. He had pressed his bets up each time he had hit that number in that way. The dice flew in the air and the boss screamed the call over the hush of the crowd.

HARD EIGHT!!!!!

The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of Rodney laughing with Ron. The two of them were sitting watching an old Sanford and Son rerun with the television up full blast.

I said through the bed spread. "Damn boys, turn that up, is this the one where Lamont gets married?"

Ron said, "What's up fucker! Now this is the one where Fred fakes a heart attack. HAHAHA!"

Rodney chimed in, "Well. well, well, the big gambler is awake."

Hungry again I said, "Let's get ready and go get Chief. I'm ready for some grill action."

Ron stated, "Damn that fucker Chief is still rollin dice. Didn't even come to bed again."

I said, "Let's go pull him off before he turns into pumpkin. He prolly needs some Juevos Rancheros with green chili and Chicken Fried Steak. I know I do."

Rodney said, "What the fuck is that. They got tacos thare?"

Ron replied, "Damn Rodney, we have been there before. Just get the same shit you always get. Oatmeal and Miller Lite. Breakfast of Champions."

Rodney started laughing, "Memeber that time ole Russ drank that bottle of ketchup cause he lost a bet to Chief. That was fuckin hilarious. heeheehaaw"

Ron laughing but still glued to the television. "Hey fucker, you goin to do that today?"

I stumbled off to the shower and caught a glimpse of those two glued to the television with pre-paid beers in hand. Must be good to be the king. "No, and it wasn't no bottle neither."

Both of them said in unison. "It damn sure was."

Lincoln County Grill

People just stared at him, patted his back, smiled, and mumbled as he walked by with racks of Pink and black in tow. Chief strode through the Casino like Mick fucking Jagger and Paul Newman in The Color of Money all rolled up into one man. All told it was a $17,000 score. Not his best but among the better in his trips out here. I knew there would be a bigger push for glory tonight and I looked forward to the show.

We were late by our standards for brunch, but Chief had to take a shower after it took him 20 minutes to cash out his chips at the cashier booth. The bulk of time he wasted was complaining at having to fill out an I.R.S. form because he won so much. Nice problem to have I thought. Next Chief stopped by the front desk, placed $5000 in an envelope, and then mailed it to his Baptist church in Lubbock at the Post office on the way to the feed.

We looked at him stunned, then he began his black football player impersonation and said, "Yeas, first of all, I'd like to thank Jesus Christ and my momma."

I didn't want to discuss my outcome last night as we ate, although it was favorable.

During our brunch at Lincoln County Grill, all ears were tuned to Chief as he recounted the high rolls and near misses. His goal wasn't to win. He wanted to someday walk in and bust that place. He longed for the moment he had the whole Casino, Reservation, and naming rights to every first born Mescalero Apache riding on one roll of his dice. Winning wasn't the point for him, that was too easy and he had far surpassed that expectation.

Chief calmed down a bit and inquired, "Hey Russ, how'd ya end up?"

"Well, after I paid you back, I had a 175 left over. So I won!" holding my hand clasped above my head in the Champions repose.

Ron and Rodney started laughing. Chief wasted no time in exposing my obvious scrub of the discontent.

"I told you what the roll was, and you never listen to me. You could have been up 10 g's. Instead you got $175. I think you better drink a bottle of ketchup for that."

Rodney was doubled up on the floor under the table laughing instantly.

Ron pushed the bottle over and said, "Drink up fucker!"

"That's right, everybody kick a man while he is down. Damn it, I need another fucking beer. Cocktails!"

The debauchery continued mostly at my expense for another 2 hours. Ron, Chief, and I treated ourselves to full New Mexican greasy cuisine that satisfies for hours but always leaves you craving more. Rodney, true to form had tacos and oatmeal that he barely touched. He made up for it in tab beer.

We stopped into a local convenience store so Rodney could replenish the Styro foam for his evening of Nick at Nite reruns in the $300 dollar a night suite. He came out of Allsup's with a 30 pack of Busch light tallboys.

"Busch was on sale, hell it's dollar fifty cheaper than the Strip."

Ron said, "What a bargain, fuck Rodney were on vacation, it's okay to live a little and splurge for some actual beer that tastes good."

Rodney just proudly stocked his indestructible cooler, he looked as if he had just won 17 grand.

To each, his own

I was so satisfied at that moment after lunch. Here I was in this beautiful place in the mountains and everybody around me was happy. Good times. Surely today is the one day that I can't lose. It must be so.

Chief and I decided to get our names on the poker waiting list. We passed the time with a massage while we sat at in chairs waiting for our turn to torture the other tourists at poker. At a dollar per minute, Chief dropped 100 bucks on the massages, but made up for it when he hit a small machine jackpot on a slot as a 4 foot Asian woman worked the tension out of neck. It ended up costing me $100, even though he paid for my massage labored on by a 6 foot Mescalero nicknamed 'Cheese'.

He was named that because he said, "everybody call me that because I'm always smiling. I'm also gay, but your not my type." Thanks for the biography.

It was the most tension building massage of my life after he said that. Chief added insult to injury and made me take a picture with 'Cheese". The he said, "you need to get over that. It's just wrong. I'm publishing this as your bio pic from now on." Chief knew exaclty how to expose me.

"Hey Dude, I'm not the gambling baptist liberal gay lover. I got issues and I'm working on them."

The poker boss was announcing our names to seat, and saved me from further outing. Chief patted me on the back and said, "Let's roll em up bro."

Hearts of a Champion.

Chief won the first 5 of 10 pots after we sat down at the 10-20 limit table. 3 times, I knew he was bluffing but was never able to get in a hand to bust his fraud. Within a couple of hours, Chief had a monster stack that he built into a replica of the Taj Majal. The Taj stood clear up to his adams apple and was as wide as the width of a basketball.

The other players were getting intimidated. Whenever they got the hand or the guts to call his bullying, he would inevitably show them a slightly better hand. It was a crushing display of skill. I, on the other hand, had had some moments of brilliance but whenever I made a move to increase my stack, the tourists were always quick to bust my bluffs.

One old man started cussing at Chief when Chief called on a pot with a busted straight draw, but won anyway with an ace high after the man missed his flush with no pair.

"How do you call that bet with nothing? You sumbitches get so lucky on me ever fuckin time. This is bullshit!"

"Sir, I just wanted to see what you had. I was donating to the poor there." Needling him into a fury. Chief was brilliant at games of skill and strategy.

"I didn't think I was goin to win that one. Whew, so glad you didn't have nothing." Chief knew he had nothing and that story about donating was just Chief playing coy.

The old man started pleading with Chief, "Well how in the hell are you so stupid to call when you got nothin. God damn motherfuckers."

"EXCUSE ME! I'm a what? I'm a what? Say it again! I fucking dare you!" Chief wasn't really mad, he just wanted to get the man's blood boiling so he would blunder further. Blood game this poker.

The floor men came over to broker Middle East peace, and asked what was going on. After that, it became a war. Everybody knew that Chief and I were friends. So the war spilled over onto me as well through the next 2 hours at the table. It was table of tourists versus the Lubbock Urban Achievers Bowling team. We lived for these moments and not for the action, but because we would later be impersonating these folks for months afterwards.

So it went, I went into hands looking for kills. This was no longer a game of bets and small raises. This was a game capped to the limit and spinning out of control. It was our game. We were always in control of the action, and they weren't. It was just a matter of time, some luck, and well mostly time.

Chief was well on his way to adding a terrace and administrative building onto his campus when we got into a huge pot with 3 other people gunning for us. That is when I finally made a score. I flopped the nut straight with a flush draw to boot, and the Chief with nothing, was doing all the raising for me. He didn't know what I had, but he knew it was good from the way I was betting. The turn card in this hold em hand made trip aces for this young surly college kid. He started cramming chips into the pot at a fury, but my straight to the 10 was still good. Little did we know, the old man had also flopped a set of 7's and was just calling and waiting for his chance to pounce on such a hug pot. Chief finally folded after the ace hit, lord knows that any hand above a pair of napkins looked like a winner to Chief.

One other player was chasing for a flush, but knew it was up to a prayer for her to make it and still be good. Finally the river brought another 7 on the board. Normally this would be a killer to my hand and make the straight nor the flush the best hand. But this one card was a miracle. The 7 of hearts made my hand the "nuts", as we say in poker. I had a 10 high straight flush, and it could not be beaten.

I didn't know exactly what they all had.The old man now had quad 7's. The college kid had Aces full of 7's, and the mother had the nut flush and all were no good. I open with a bet.

The old man raises and the college kid re-raises to $60 and announces stupidly, "only quads can beat me."

The mom wisely drops her hand in disgust.

The old man perks up and stupidly replies, "Well I guess your beat there punk, I got them 7's in the hole." The looks squarely at me and says, "That flush you got aint no good neither, but I doubt you got anything."

I said, "Well, I got a good hand sir and I bet you don't got no 7's in the hole. I re-raise." I make it $80.

The old man ponders his turn like an actor trying to win an Oscar. After what seemed like a minute of suspense, he states fast and with quick movement pushes his chips. "I cap it..hunnert..pay it off big boys."

The kid stares at the board in disbelief.

6h 7c 10h Ad 7h

"You got them 7's in the hole grandpa?...god damn it! I know that sumbitch dont have nothin."

From afar his dad is screamin, "you got aces full Butch, you got it! you got it! call! it's just 20 more."

Chief chimes in interrupting him. "I'll bet anyone here a grand that my boy has got the old man beat!"

I don't know how he knew I had the 8 and 9 of hearts in the hole. Suddenly from the crowd, the punks father, a high roller looking middle aged man with horses all over his shirt said. "Hell, I betcha two grand my boy has your boy beat."

Chief said firmly, "That's a bet, your the witnesses. Show me the money high roller! You want some of this grandpa!" Chief was flashing his huge roll of bills at him begging him for action.

The old man ponders only a second and says, "Damn straight asshole, I got your ass now! Make it two also?"

Chief looks at me a second, then says, "Done. Damn it Russ, I hope you got this."

The punk reluctantly says, "I call."

Before I call I take just a moment while everyone in the room is staring at me. I can't believe this is happening. The Chief is just looking at me and for a second gets that look of defeat in his eyes. I have never seen that before and it hurt me so much to see that look of disappointment. But really, I was just fucking with him for all the times I had been the whipping boy.

I look down, take my hands and peel one last look look at the cards. To my surprise and relief, they hadn't changed. I said,

"Call" and threw the chips in I knew were returning.

The old man jumped out of his chair, flipped over his two 7's and said, "I tole you I had it you sumbitches, WHEEE HEEE...SEND IT!!!"

The horse dad said, "Butch, just flip over them cards and I will get this man's money."

Sure enough, the college punk had Aces full.

I didn't slow roll, but I did take longer than usual. The Dealer was looking at me to flip and I just said to him, "Better call a doctor, I got the nuts."

The dealer says outloud, "Winner! Straight Flush to the ten! Wow!"

Chief stared to jump up and down like Tech had just scored the winning touchdown in the last second to beat OU in Norman, he was entrhalled.

"No asshole, that's damn straight flush!!"


All told, I took down a pot that was just under $1,000. Chief took down $3,000. The old man didn't end up having it all, and Chief admitted to me later he just wanted to bust him because of the cussing and name calling towards him earlier. Even so, no matter what, there is a lesson to be had here. Even if I catch a miracle, the Chief always wins bigger.


Side note: Chief's Church is located near the corner of 50th and Indiana, you can't miss it. It's the only one on the block built out of titanium.

Molleja

I awoke the next day at mid-morning. The crew at La Boca had been long gone at work throughout the ranch, winery, and farm. Only Dosa was in the house to greet me. I said,

"Good morning Dosa."

She just smiled and nodded her head. Dosa wasn't much of a talker, but I could tell she liked me. She pointed at a small table near the kitchen and motioned at me to sit down. I was happy I was going to get fed. I had a hangover and I knew it was going to be a long day on the fluorescent trail. Maggie was gone, I guessed she was out tending the herds with the vaqueros. Good for her.

Dosa brought a plate about 30 minutes later as I sipped on my coffee. I asked her,

"This looks great, but I don't know what it is."

"Molleja! Eat....molleja good for you."

"Thanks Dosa, you really didn't have to do this. I was thinking an Allsup's burrito was in my future, but this ought to hit the spot."

Molleja is chicken gizzards. Normally, chicken gizzards are tough and rough on the digestion, but this was prepared just right. I imagined that Dosa had tenderized the gizzards the night before. It was evident she soaked them in lime, cilantro, and white wine. The taste busted out juicy goodness with every bite. She served it with refried beans, hot tortillas, salsa and eggs. It was the best breakfast I had had since yesterday. Without Pearl Light in can for breakfast, nothing is complete. You can quote that as scientific proof.

Dosa spent her days in the kitchen getting everything just right, that is until her father came in and messed it up again. I could tell from last nights fireworks, that that was how they communicated withe each other. Dosa had a small television and I gathered a small infatuation with Patrick Swayze. On top of the VCR were worn copies of Roadhouse and Ghost. Dirty Dancing was up for morning viewing and Dosa mimicked the words silently in her toil around the kitchen.

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner"

I loved Balmorhea and La Boca, but I couldn't live here permanently. If it drives you worship Patrick Swayze, then I better get out of town with the gold while the 'gettin is good.'

Jetta was loaded down with 3 cases of wine. I felt obliged to buy more on behalf of The Hub. 'Research' is the simple note inscription I wrote to Burns on the hand written receipt in Spanish. I drove out to the fields to fetch Maggie and to say goodbye to Juan Miguel, but the vaqueros said he was down at Rosita's grave site, so I decided to leave him a note and let him be.

Senor,

You gave me your true soul to ponder. May you and Rosita swim forever here in the heaven of La Boca. Thank you.

your friend,

Smith

I saw miles and miles of Texas

The hangover was mildly cured by the time I sidetracked home through Wink, Texas. I decided I wanted to see the Roy Orbison museum before I left this world, and this seemed to be a good afternoon for it. To my chagrin, it was closed so I popped into a local gift shop and purchased a Greatest Hits CD for the home stretch instead. All told I have written small pieces for The Hub on Bob Wills form Turkey, TX,Waylon Jennings from Littlefield, and Don Williams from Floydada. My friends back home ask why I never do a piece on Buddy Holly. All I can tell them is, what is there to write about? Just listen to the music, the story is already been told. There is no need to repeat it and besides, the way it makes me feel is mine alone.

The 'KID' was passed out in the back seat after a hard morning at the round-up. So I was left to endure the miles with my thoughts. Then it occurred to me that I haven't called on my oldest living great aunt in quite a while. So I pulled aside in Seminole to pay her a visit.

The last of her tribe.

Aunt Sherrie was a retired school teacher, and had been retired since I was just a small boy. She had outlived everyone except one son in the Nursing Home nearby. These days she kept a garden and taught piano lessons for extra money, she was also the County Chair for the local Democratic Party. I think its because she was the last yellow dog Democrat living in Seminole. She had lived in the same house for 60 years that she purchased from the proceeds of her dead husbands life insurance.

I came to the door with a big smile on my face and knocked as loud as I could. She came to the door with a surprised look on her face as if she didn't recognize me.

"Ma'am, I was just passing by and wondered if I could share with you the good news about Jesus Christ." She began to get red in the face, Aunt Sherrie was also the only atheist in Seminole and I knew she wouldn't pass on a chance to play along. Besides, it is fun to torture ornery relatives with bad eye sight.

She said, "you sumbitches aint never gonna see me in no whore house on Sunday. But come on in, I aint had no good laugh today." I loved it that she taught English once upon a time.

I thought that I better end this now before I get indicted for homicide. "Aunt Sherrie, it's me, your nephew Russ. How are you doing, young lady?"

"My lands Russ! You sumbitch, I was about to go fetch Marvin's old squirrel gun and pop a cap in your ass, heeheehee. Them damn Baptists and Mormons come over here all the time talking all that brain washed babble, but alls they want is an old woman's money. BUUULLSHIT." Evidently, Aunt Sherrie had been keeping up with the street lingo in Compton. God, or Allah, or Vishnu only knows where she learned that. Then she gave me a hug and a kiss while she was laughing with glee. We shared that dry sense of humor inherent throughout our family.

"Put on them gloves over there boy, I need you to help me outside in the garden. What you doin in Seminole? How old are you now? Are you married? I always forget. You still write for that Nazi magazine in Lubbock?"

I never got a full response to the inquiries out, but the next question would keep on firing from her mouth. She had the television on full blast, the radio news was on out side full blast, and I don't think she was really listening to anything but herself firing questions, then answering them for herself. I was having fun just picking her tomatoes and wondering how she kept herself in such good shape. I guessed she was in her mid 90's now, but she looked and moved like a 60 year old.

After we got done in the garden, she made some sweet tea with at least a half a pound of sugar. She offered me a piece of lemon cake she had made yesterday from scratch. I asked,

"Aunt Sherrie, I got to get back soon, but I was wondering if you would play me something on your piano before I left. I always loved how you played.

"Why sure boy. I know what you want to hear me play."

"Wow, you know of The Clash?"

"No god damn boy, and old song. It was your grandma's favorite. We use to sing it together, the whole family back on the homestead."

I said, "Yeah, what is the name of that song?"

She starts playing lightly and beautifully on the 100 year old weathered piano her father had bought her long ago. She promptly ends the build up, changes chordes and blasts her voice with the music coming from her arthritic fingers.

"My buckets got a hole in it, my buckets got a hole in it, my BUCKETS GOT A HOLE in it!....Can't buy no beer!" She stops the music and begins and old womans belly laugh that lasts for 15 seconds.

"I had to get you back boy, don't come around her lookin for a fight unless you bring your lunch. It will take you all day to get old Sherrie!"

She begins playing again. This time I knew she was back in time in her mind as young girl around the old piano with the family long in the grave.

"You remember Russie, we use to sing this to you, me and your Meme. Your were so cute."

There Is No Greater Love

There is no greater love
Than what I feel for you
No greater love, no heart so true

There is no greater thrill
Than what you bring to me
No sweeter song
Than what you sing to me

Youre the sweetest thing
I have ever known
And to think that you are mine alone

There is no greater love
In all the world, its true
No greater love
Than what I feel for you

She looked at me and smiled. It seemed for a moment she could really see me clearly, but I know that what she really saw through her old glasses was the faces of her family long gone. It gave me pleasure beyond thought comprehension.

Aunt Sherrie made me take tomatoes and the rest of her lemon cake with me. I was 20 miles down the road before I realized how special that was. If that was our last visit, it was a good one to cherish.


West Bound and Down

I was on the outskirts of Brownfield when my shit started blowing up. That is old school lingo from the 90's that means my cell phone is ringing. Ron had left me a message. Speaking of shit blowing up, he said our bowling league night was canceled because the bowling alley sewage pipes had ruptures and spilled foulness throughout the bar. I guess they reckoned with no bowling alley bar, there was no need for league night. I like the shitty logic.

Anyway, the team had decided to go gamble in Ruidoso, New Mexico for the weekend. Did I mention that Chief was on our team? Nobody knew where I was, but they were letting me know. Hedonistic thoughts rattled around in my head. I was tired, but I was also not wanting to miss out on the fun. So again when faced with life's tough choices, I asked myself.

"What would Burt do?"

I immediately turned Jetta west to head off the boys at the mountain pass. If I missed them, I could always rally up with the gang at the Casino. I didn't need to have my copy done until Tuesday anyway and the expense report needed some more abuse. I justified, I will probably write better anyway with ill gotten Apache cash in my back pocket. After all, it's all about the quality of work. No cards and all work makes 'Russie' a dull boy. I punched up the I-20 truckers show on A.M. I changed Maggie's name in my head again to 'Flash'.

I called the boys on the cell as if it were a C.B.

"Bandit two, this is Bandit one, do you got your ears on?"

Ron answered back "Yeee HAW! Go ahead Bandit one, we are negatory on the Smokies and clear down to the the Lincoln County line, go ahead."

"I'm west bound and down. Bandit one is hauling ass to Ruidoso, we'll be seeing you on your back door soon."

The radio started playing Convoy by C.W. McCall, and all was as it should be.

CONVOY!!!!!!!!!!

La Boca

The Chief was right, I needed to get out of town. I stumbled out of my bedroll and made my way to the public bathroom at the campground. Maggie loitered outside while I bathed. After a refreshing 50 degree shower, I decided we would walk the 2 miles to town to get some breakfast. Besides, Jetta needed some rest from yesterdays hard ride. Balmorhea is an oasis. The main attraction being a Spring that pumps millions of gallons day to the surface that centers around the state park. The water moves fast and provides a delicate ecosystem for minnow like fish, the species can only be found near the springs source. The fish dance with the currents of the geothermal offerings. Somehow, I was going to have to make this place seem like the Bolshoi, Sturgis, and Yellowstone all in one, to satisfy our readership at The Hub. I need eggs, red meat, and alcohol to make that happen.

Maggie and I walked along the highway, the Balmorhea Spring at our side. It irrigates the land around the town and feeds into a nearby lake as well. Dotted along the aqueduct are farms and a winery. We were definitely going there after breakfast. Perhaps media perks were appreciated. Let's hope that wines flows like the spring of this day.

The local town only supports about 800 residents, but it isn't your typical West Texas burg. There are thriving gift stores with pinata's, carved bears from wood, wind chimes, and typical Mexican trinkets and blankets. We finally stumbled upon Tiffani's. I decided to mosey on up and patronize.

Breakfast at Tiffani's

Tiffani's is a local favorite, I could tell right away this was going to be a special moment. By the way, the sign out front had the 'I' in Tiffani dotted with a heart. After being greeted at the door, I immediately wondered if I should call a local Realtor. Why? Any progressive town that allows smoking, dogs to sit in the booth with you, and serves ice cold beer before 10am, is a town worth living in.

I wondered if angioplasty was offered for dessert, because the smells and items described on the menu were lethal. Lethal but so good that is. I ordered the migas and a ribeye medium rare. Pearl Light in a can. I felt so damn good, I said,

"Bring out a 10 oz sirloin for the kid, would'ya plaese."

I lied to the waitress and said Maggie's name was' Sundance' and that mine was 'Butch.' She didn't get it. 'Sundance' dipped her nose in the salsa verde causing her to sneeze violently while I read the local paper produced out of nearby Fort Davis. On the back, it was reprinted in Spanish. I didn't really understand the parts written in English, so I immediately tossed it aside and focused on the television. Fox Sports El Paso was on, and doing an expose' on the UTEP Miner's soccer team. Riveting.

Maggie, excuse me, 'Sundance' finished her sirloin in 9 seconds. Then proceeded to slink out onto the cool floor beside the booth. Everyone came by as they left to pay there respects. Our waitress wasn't to keen on clearing a table, but she made up for it in replenishing cool beers. She was getting a big tip because she starting calling me, "Mister Butch". The whole Pulp Fiction coolness of a Mexican woman saying "Mister Butch" was a 25% bonus for her.

I was fixated on perhaps starting a pyramid to honor my achievement of discovery, but felt the eyes of a high school student group on me, and thought better of such a monument.

Finally, the teacher came by and said, "Rusth, is that you?"

Damn it, I thought, can't I just get away without being noticed.

"We'll hello, how are you doing?" I was bad with names, especially after the mind control drugs are circulating. I felt annoyed and I hope the look on my face said, 'sorry I can't remember your name, will you please remind me.' No such luck. I sort through the mental high school yearbook. Maybe Chuck, or Dave, or Eric. Nothing fit there. We weren't close friends back then, so no real foul.

His name was Trent, I caught it on his drivers license. I remembered he was a fat kid in high school, but he had slimmed down quite a bit. He just sat down and poured out his soul to me like I was a bartender. Except this bartender was getting ready for an afternoon of bumbling through wineries and taking out of focus pictures. Trent was a born again Christian and had a family. Showed off his picture of his obese wife and obese girls, ages 7 and 3. That seemed odd to me, because I remember we use to speculate harshly the Trent was gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that now. It's just that I have a "gaydar", and it's as accurate as a Super Doppler Storm Tracker Weather Center forecast.

"Just on our way back from the observatory. Taking the kidths back to San Antonio." The lisp is emphasized in "kidths". There it is. The National Sexual Orientation Center has issued a gay warning out for Trent. Be advised, that Trent is a born again Christian with possibly deep inner conflict....Yada, Yada. Who cares. Whatever floats your boat brother.

"Listhen Rusth, if your evar in town, give me a call and I can show you around. Good to thsee you again. God blessth. Caio!" Trent is definitely a traitor to his team. (Insert Brando doing the Kurtz whisper..."the horror.")

'Mister Butch' and 'Sundance' paid our way out of Tiffani's with a heart shaped I, looking forward to the Burns getting a receipt on my expense report that included the words "A.M. Bar". I felt like Lester Burnham with a slice of bacon on the side. I uttered to myself,

"I rule!"

Beer before wine? or is it Liquor before beer?

La Boca Del Vino winery is likely the laziest alcohol operation in the world. They produce only 5,000 cases of wine a year. It's all Cabernet. The bottle has nothing flashy on it. I thought it might as well just have a white label on it with black block lettering on it that simply says, WINE. There was nothing special about the tour. I walked in and asked for help from one of the migrants working inside a barn I thought might be the 'Visitor's Center.' He did not speak English, but knew what I wanted to see. He pointed to the fields of grapes. Then he pointed to the rusted cone shaped whatever. I guessed that is where the grapes fermented. The he led me to the bottling barn. There were chicken coups and a hog pen adjacent to the building. Tour over. Pictures taken. Now let's finish the mission.

Then I said the universally, or most understood phrase in Spanish that I knew to convey I wanted some alcohol. I mimed a bottle tilted to my mouth and said,

"Otra"

He laughed like a bastard, and I knew what he was thinking. "Otra" doesn't mean I want one, it means I want many more, or something close to that. Hey, I'm still learning. But I got street smarts from my days whoring around in Matamoros. Probably learned more there in one Spring Break than the 15 semesters of college I took in the language. Enough of that lament.

Anyway, he said something outloud and all of the sudden 15 migrants came rushing up with bottles. I started handing out dollars like rap star at a titty bar. All told, I scored a case for just a smidge under 60 bucks. I asked for a glass, but I got alot more than that. Immediately I was put into an old 60's model Chevrolet truck and driven to a nearby pond that had a table and chairs nestled under some old pinion trees.

"Tu comida?" The migrant inquired. That means something about food I think.

"Yes...no...SI! SI! SI! SI!"

Something was uttered under his breath but I assume the words "pinche" and "gringo" were used. He had a big smile as though he meant it like, "hey, your the bomb shizzle!" But I know it somehow meant to really state, "fucking tourist!" Anyway, 'Sundance' and I were all set. Mister Butch aka Pinche Gringo, was damn near heaven. I thought I might write the Los Lonely Boys to tell them of the location. I also thought if I started a rap group I would do so in Spanish. The band name would be Pinche Gringo and the White Raza. or maybe Blanco Raza. I don't know.

Drunken fish

Juan Miguel de la Garza was a man in his early 70's. He came by to this place each day to take his rowboat out to catch his dog food fed catfish. He noticed me right off, but didn't say a word as I mumbled the yell, "Helllloooo thare!"

He didn't even look in my general direction after I made a noise. I sat there watching him. Streams of Shur Fine dog pellets floated in the water, and all of the sudden fish mouths began to gobble up the debris. As soon as he finished the feed, he gathered his pole and got in his boat to row out to the middle. It was an amazing sight.

As he rowed, the catfish seemed oblivious to his intent. They kept gobbling and only darted whenever the boat was nearing their spot on the water. As soon as he passed by, they would continue their feast. 'Sundance' started barking at the fish on the water and suddenly the old man reversed course and headed directly to the shore where 'Sundance' was in distress. I started towards shore to protect the kid.

"Is that chour dog?"

"Yes sir, sorry about that. I was just enjoying the scenery."

"I like dogs, would chou mind if she came along while I fished?"

"No, not at all, but she might be a pain."

"No, no, not this one. She will settle down, fishing is peaceful. Chou come along too. Bring chour vino."

Wasting no time, I gathered up 3 bottles and headed for the boat. Senor de la Garza was pulling out fish after fish and letting Maggie play with them in the boat. I couldn't lie to Senor Garza, and revealed our true identities. I was sitting back watching the clouds reflect on the water in drunken bliss. I offered some up to Senor Garza, and he gladly accepted.

He said, "So chou live in Lubick?"

"Yes sir, err Senor Garza"

"Call me Jaun. So tell an old man, what is a man like chou doing at La Boca?"

"I'm supposed to be writing a story for my magazine, but the truth is I'm running away from a woman back home."

"Ahh yeas, a woman. This is why chou say 'otra' to my boyzz!... chou look troubled. Tell Juan this trouble."

Maggie tossed a fish accidentally out of the boat as I began to tell Juan about Twila. Juan de la Garza is not the kind of man to mince words, instead he chooses carefully. He sat there and listened to me, then he put his hand up as if to stop me from speaking. I stopped and he sat in silence smiling and fishing for a while. This went on for at least an hour and even though I felt uncomfortable like I had offended him, his smile reassured me I didn't, so I relaxed instead.

He took the bottle of wine, and began to sip on it and admire the taste that only a creator can appreciate. It was his, this place was him, and he was this place.

"I am glad you are hear on this day, Mr. Smith. You are a troubled man, but inside I think you have a good heart. An old vaquero knows."

"Thank you sir, I mean Juan."

"Chou need peace, but to appreciate the peace... chou must endure the pain. Only a woman can do that, give chou peace and pain."

I didn't say anything, how could I? So profound. This wine is fucking good!

Then he did the unthinkable. He motioned me to sit still and placed his finger against his mouth to tell me to be quiet. He placed his hand on Maggie to ease her tension and somehow she too knew to sit silently. He then reached down into the water and pulled out a fish with his bare right hand.

Then the triumph sprung from his voice, "Ha YAHHH hahahaha, chou see, chou must respect the peace and it will provide you with life! HAHAHA."

He took the bottle of wine, poured a little into his hand and uttered something in Spanish to the fish, it was like a prayer. Then he slips some wine droplets into the mouth of the fish, placed it in the water to let it go.

I watched as the fish floated by me upside down, wondering if a) it could ingest alcohol and b) if in my second life I could be a catfish in this pond. The catfish then sprung to life and swam away.

"Let's cook the rest up, haha! Chous will be my guest."

"I will be honored Senor de la Garza!"

"I like the way chous say that, Senor Smith."

Juan Miguel de la Garza

Senor Garza was a lonely old man, his wife Rosita had passed away from cancer a few years back. He had fathered and raised 5 boys that had all left La Boca for the cities and careers. His life's work was this 7th generation rancho in Balmorhea. He proudly recited the lineage beginning with his greatest great grandfather. Juan Alfonso was deeded the land for his service during the Texas Revolution under Sam Houston. Through droughts and pestilence, Juan Miguel had always survived with his land in place. While so many Texicans had sold out long ago for the dreams of San Antonio, El Paso, or San Angelo.

Juan Miguel also had one daughter also named Rosita, he called her Dosa. Throughout the 100 year old home, he had pictures of his bride and family portraits of days long past. Quinceneras, fiestas, and Dia de las Muertas were shared here. This evening he shared his stories and fish with me, and spoke of those gone from La Boca.

He sent his crew to fetch Jetta, while he filleted and battered the fish. He made pico de gallo as fast as a blender, with only a dull knife to aid him. Next, he produced freshly ground tortillas from corn grown on the sandy Boca fields, and shaped just this morning by his crew. He bragged that the offspring seeds he used were brought here originally by Juan Alfonso, and toasted his name with yet another glass of wine. He wrapped the fish in bacon and placed them neatly on the grill to roast on an open cooking fire that had served his family since he was just a boy.

On and on he labored, with only his 'Dosa' to aid him. She dared not get in his way, but was merely there to curse at him in Spanish for doing something that she could have easily helped to make time. Senor would have none of it, and continued furiously for 3 hours, bring snacks for me to stem the tide until his homegrown bounty was ready to serve.

Finally at 9pm, the dinner bell was rung. Into the great dining room with a 10 foot hand made pinon table and chairs that were made to last 200 years or more, the entire crew of La Boca sat down to feast. Senor finally rested at the head seat, as he waited for everyone to quietly settle. He then raised his glass of wine, and everyone else followed suit. I didn't know what the old man was saying, but it sounded more eloquent that a Shakespearean soliloquy to my ears. Senor Garza spoke steadily and firm, and everyone then stood to toast the old monarch of La Boca, then said together.

"Nuestra tierra de madre.... la boca!"

To our mother Earth, the mouth. Well, it sounds better in unison on 25 Spanish tongues. The meal lasted way into the night and then broke out in song. Juan Miguel was getting tired I could tell, but wanted one last chat with me before bed. I followed him out to his spacious patio, and he calmly lit his pipe.

"Now chou can go home and write your story. Will you tell of La Boca?"

"Oh yes Senor, I will. You are so kind and this place is an oasis of heaven."

"Thank you from my grand fathers and mothers, I am juss the caretaker of the oasis and I miss my darling Rosita. I keep busy to pass the time until we meet again. Chou are a young man, I hope chou can have what i have hads in life."

"There is no way I can ever touch this, Senor. I thank you for your day here. Of all the things in Texas, this place and you are special to see alone. I don't know if I want to pollute you with all the visits that will come."

"No, no, no, La Boca is a giver of life. It, how do you say, restorezz... and this will be good for alls the people to sees one day. My Dosa will carry on after me. Let them enjoy the wine of my grand fathers and the peace of my Rositas pinons and gardens."

"What was she like?"

"OH, Rosita was a cactus in a wildfire. The most beautiful woman in this world. Many mens wanted her, but she wanted only me. She came to me and I could never let her go. This is good? No."

"Yes it is Senor. So what did you do to win her?"

"Chou cannot win a woman, she claims chou for life, and if chou are a good man, you learn to give chour life to her. Is this Twila a good woman?"

"Well Senor, she is and she isn't. She is like your Rosita in a way, like a cactus in a wildfire. I cannot get enough of her, like your wine."

"Oh, this is good and bad Senor Smith. Good that she is like the wine... hahaha... but bad is she is not grown jus right."

"She is different. She likes many men. But yet, she all of the sudden just came out of nowhere and is mean to me and nice to me all it once and all the time. I can't explain it. She isn't anything like the others. She cusses and swears and isn't so feminine like alot of other women."

"She loves you, Senor..chou can say no more about dis. It is...and old vaquero knows. I knows like I know the fish. Be still and silent and wait for her, she will come to you, and then chou... must grab her and love her ...then learn that one day, CHou... will have to let her go. Like the fish today. I say a prayer to Rosita, and then I let her go again...until it is our time to swim together again under the pinon trees."

He smiled in his peace. He left me in silence to retire to bed. I sat there alone with feint noise of happy people singing and the sound of the breeze through the garden. I wondered if Twila was thinking of me the way I was thinking of her now. There has to be more to her than this. I just can't be feeling this way, unless that were true. Tomorrow I ride again, but tonight I miss Twila like I have never missed a woman before.

Road trip with The Lizard King

I'm a back door man

Hey, all you people that tryin to sleep

I had a dream that night after the boat show. Twila and I were getting married at the bait shop lobby on Buffalo Spring Lake. Twila walked down the aisle in her cheer leading outfit to the tune of Back Door Man by The Doors. Don't ask me why, it's just a dream and it is one of my favorite songs. Maggie was my best man and Strut Strutters was the bridesmaid. The flower girls were Skye and the other Twilas on the Renegade cheering squad. Rex was the preacher conducting the service. He said, "you better pony up that ring."

Then I kissed Twila as Naomi was crying as Alex was screaming, "God damnit, this costs too musch."

I awoke in a sweat as Twila was asleep beside me. She looked peaceful. In fact, I just stared at her in awe. I have never seen her still until that moment and I could feel her security in my bed. I never wanted her in the deep way you want a woman until that moment. She had a grin on her face.

Even though the dream stopped when I awoke, the music never really left my brain. I muttered to myself.

"The men dont know, but the little girl understand."
I eat more chicken, than any man ever seen, yeah, yeah

So I'm sitting there at lunch with Chief as he is looking over the racing form and calling his bookie in Vegas to make a bet on race in Miami. What a country! Anyway, I am reciting the details of my dream to Chief. Chief minored in psychology when he was in college in the, "horse and buggy era", as he would have you believe.

He knew all this obscure shit about Immanuel Kant and Freud. It seemed to intertwine somehow with his analysis of the Tech Veer offense versus the full court press. The guy made sense on paper, but never in real life conversation, except to me of course. Chief liked to listen to me because I think my pathetic existence somehow exceeded his own in his mind. The Chief was competitive and he liked to win. But as his job was for so many years, he could tell you exactly why you lose and why you will continue to lose. Uplifting.

"So let me get this straight, you have already met her parents, she is sleeping in your bed every night, and you don't like the kind of person she is."

"You could say that."

"I just did. Jesus, this is like picking a quinella at Aqueduct in the rain. You just don't do it. No matter how hard the tip is or how much you believe it, YOU JUST DONT DO IT." Everything hard gets translated into gambling analogies.

"So I'm fucked then. I knew it."

"Wait a second Russ, this is the chick you want to change? Damn man, she changed you in 4 fucking days. She sleeps with football players, dresses like a whore, calls you out and EMBARRASSES YOU in public. This is complete and utter bullshit my friend. You know what your problem is, your pussy whipped. That's it man, once they got that they aint doin shit."

"So what do I do?"

After a long pause and stare, the Chief grins and says, "You have to ignore her. Just a few days and then she will be ripe for the picking my friend. RIPE! Trust me, I know women. I know women so well you don't even know how well I know women."

"But she lives nearby, hell it's in the next building over. She has a key. I'm screwed."

"No your not, no your not, no YOUR not!...I'll send you on assignment."

"Where?"

"Who gives a fuck where, just go get a story or something. Go to Vegas. DO Something other than be here, OKAY?" All roads of enlightenment lead to Vegas for Chief.

"Okay. But I will have to put off the Twila article until next month. That okay with you?"

"Russ, I'm thinking travel piece brother. That's what we need this month anyway. So I will see you in my office next Tuesday with a completed travel bullshit piece ready for editing and print, Okay?"

"Leaving now. One more thing, do I call her?"

"No, leave a message. But whatever you do, don't fucking call her man."

Out here we is Stoned
Immaculate.

The spirit road has many paths, but only the Volkswagen can forge the truest. I felt like John Wayne on my paint horse named Jetta. Maggie would play the role of Indian scout or Cookie in this one I reasoned. Open range and deep thinking inspired by the nothingness dotted with pump jacks and steel irrigation. I'm not exactly my generations Jack Karouac but I'm no hack either. I admit, I am just a cheap dime store tripe writer, I long since gave up becoming Hemingway. Those guys looked for trouble and that is what made them great. I avoided trouble and found it anyway, that must be the difference between mediocrity and successful discontent. At least I'm still alive, and maybe I might find my road and the sun that also rises as it falls.

Ill tell you about texas radio and the big beat

I listened to Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys, Oasis, Coldplay, and Conway Twitty. I got bored with the CD changer and caught the tail end of a High School Baseball game between Reagan County and Crane. Crane won. Then I flipped over the dial to FM and caught a Classic Rock station in San Angelo. They play the Los Lonely Boys two hits every other song because those boys busted out the charts from there. I still do not know how far is heaven, but I have heard the question asked before. Maybe the answer lies with Ron. Ron's voice came over the airwaves a few times doing commercials for the likes of Shithole Ford in Shithole, Texas and Tractor Pull Extravaganzas at the Scurry County Convention Center. Wherever the fuck that is. Ron rules and can make anything sound cool to check out.


Wandering, wandering in hopeless night

I lost myself heading south somehow. It is easy to do, especially when Odessa is somehow involved. I skirted past the "Petroplex" and found myself free in the darkness with only the fluorescents to guide my horse. I didn't think I would avoid Twila by calling at the hour I did, but I missed her and found the recording instead.

South I thought, but not too far this time. I have been to Big Bend and it still leaves me feeling like the moon landing was a farce. I don't believe that it was, but if it were, Big Bend would have been a good place to fake it. I settled on Fort Stockton, then changed my mind to Balmorhea instead. I didn't have enough time to go back to the moon on this trip.

We pulled into the Balmorhea State Park about 2am. I pulled out my bedroll, watered the horse, and laid my pistol by my side should any posse try and jump me. I didn't really have a pistol, my only weapon was a Dell laptop. It shoots the straightest for me. I instantly fell asleep after Maggie offered to stand guard, like a good Indian guide, she can sleep with her eyes open and can hear whispers a mile away.

Out here in the perimeter there are no stars

The sleep didn't last long. I asked Maggie if she could sing in Spanish so I could pretend I was watching Telemundo. When I was in college and flunking Spanish at a record still unbroken at Texas Tech. I flunked the first year course 3 times. That was until I found out about bribery and the power of cheap alcohol to Teaching Assistants. I digressed, anyway I use to fall asleep to Telemundo broadcasts at night in bed thinking I would somehow absorb the language in my sleep. It still works to this day. The big breasted chicas dancing in my dreams. If only Twila was Spanish. I still can't get that image from the night before out of my head. I guess I ruined it.

Back in those days everything was simpler and more confused