FRIDAY’S GUESSWORK–YOU MAY WIN A PRIZE, OR NOT

Here, you the viewer try to guess this Friday’s made-up picture and you will get to win these fabulous prizes:

**An autographed copy of a great eightfeetdeep classic

**A genuine Southeast Texas rock

**Your name will appear in a official post of EFD.

All you have to do is send me your guess of this week’s historical figure. I might even let you win if you are close. Send your guess to eightftdeep@hotmail.com.

If you seriously expect a prize, please add your mailing address and name or vice versa:

Who am I?

Who am I?

From the VA Hospital: Maybe there’s no free lunch. But breakfast?

Today was a long day at the DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center in Houston. I had a five-hour wait to see the doctor. There was nothing that could have been done with that for various personal circumstances.

My 45-minute or so visit with the neurologist went probably better than any visit in a great while. The doctor has agreed to take me off the side-effect-ridden Cymbalta and put me back on another drug I once took for the same conditions. What was even better was I got the neurologist to put me in a consultation with a neurosurgeon because of my back pain. This would be after undergoing another MRI on my back and an EMG. Now I had an EMG earlier this year or later last year. I can’t remember. That was to determine problems with my hands and fingers, which was then diagnosed as carpal tunnel. I was given two gigantic black braces for each hand, both bearing the U.S. Flag. When I don them both, I look like someone gearing up for bomb disposal, such as in the movie, “The Hurt Locker.” The braces aren’t very practical for my work as I disarm or detonate very few, if any, bombs in my daily comings and goings.

However long it takes after all the tests I will consult with the neurosurgeon as to whether I need back surgery and, if so, whether I will ask for it. I see that as a long way down the line. I have decided that I need to try and access a better physical shape and improve my health. Along with that, I also should start thinking long and hard about how to medically retire from my paying job and determine how to live on however meager the pittance might be. Time to be a vagabond, perhaps?

As ridiculously long as the day has left me, I did come away with one of those head-spinning acts of humanity.

I got some bacon and eggs, a sausage, and a biscuit along with a cup of coffee this morning at the Patriot Cafe. The cafe is the dining hall inside the huge DeBakey hospital. They have about four cashiers who have customers paying on either side of them. I went to one of those tellers and only a single customer was on the other side.

I hardly noticed the other customer on the other side except to note that she looked as if she was a VA employee and that she had a small item, a coffee perhaps. I thought I heard the cashier ask the young woman if she was paying for mine too. I was somewhat stunned but figured what I heard must have been in error. The other customer paid and walked off.

The cashier turned to me as I held my plastic in my hand. “She paid for yours,” she said. I was then truly dumb-founded. I quickly turned around and saw the generous woman as she was walking out the door. “Thank you very much,” I told her, though not very loudly as I was still wondering took place.

“Did you know her?” the cashier asked me, about the woman. “No,” I told her.

Thus ended a long day that left me wearisome and tired. The mysterious VA worker’s generosity might have been misplaced or mistaken. Or maybe she saw the tiredness in my eyes. Or maybe she was just messing with my head. Be it far from me to look good fortune in the mouth. Or anywhere else. Including in my local VA hospital

Closed today: Feets’ ‘a botherin’ me

I kid you not. I have to go to the neurologist in Houston tomorrow. Hope I feel better soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Initial reports being wrong annoys anchor Pelley

Scott Pelley isn’t my favorite news anchor. But his CBS Evening News is the one I listen to at 5:30 p.m. Pelley chastises fellow news folks in this story for what has become almost a standard operating procedure of “the initial report being wrong” during big news events. He also gives a personal mea culpa in this realm.

A tale of two states: Divided Delaware ponders picker ruckus

DAKTAGASTAN, So. Del. — The immigrants from Daktagastan have found little to do in the recent enclave provided by partitioning Delaware into two states. South Delaware provides a look at a rusting anti-aircraft gun while citizens of the northern state, Badtothebone, are finding an uptick in tourists who seek autographed photographs of the notorious “Little Johnny.”

The 52nd state past time. Daganistan immigrants to South Delaware stare at the  rusty anti-aircraft gun for "the 442nd time already!"

The 52nd state past time. Daktagastan immigrants to South Delaware stare at the rusty anti-aircraft gun for “the 442nd time already!”

Little Johnny caused a major uproar in the new state, named for a popular song made famous by Wilmington native George Thorogood. During a quiet time in the first-grade class at Beau Biden III Elementary School, Little Johnny suddenly and unexpectedly picked his nose.

Troopers of the Badtothebone State Public Safety Department, BSPSD, and formerly members of the Delaware State Police stormed the school and after a five-minute standoff took Little Johnny into custody. The BSPSD raid created a major controversy in the former northern Delaware area because 19 of Little Johnny’s first-grade classmates were subdued with flash-bang and tear gas grenades during the alleged nose-pickers apprehension.

“I threw up on Mrs. Barker,” said 6-year-old Tyrannus Rex Jackson, referring to his teacher. “They got Johnny but they got me too. Bitches!”

The controversy grew immensely before Little Johnny could even be arraigned. Wilmington TV station News2Lose learned from an anonymous source who was told by the brother of another anonymous source that Little Johnny’s parents knew that the boy had a predilection for picking his nose. In fact, a Johns Hopkins otolaryngologist told the child’s parents that Little Johnny was in all probability a rhinotillexomaniac, one with an obsessive-compulsive disorder involving nose-picking.

The Right Rev. Cleophus B. Oswalt, a Kilgore, Texas-based faith healer said he was called by Little Johnny’s parents but: “They started using those words like oto-loren-geologist and rhinoceros monocle and it just scared the wheat out of my straw hat!”

Still, the now imprisoned Little Johnny has sparked a cottage industry up north. Autographed pictures with Little Johnny posing in a profile shot that looks as if he is picking his nose, or is doing so in reality, are selling briskly at Rodney Square in downtown Wilmington. A state law passed by the Badtothebone Assembly in about 3 minutes set a $15 limit on any single product sold by an inmate within the state.

“All it is is nasal porn,” said Assemblyman Jonas P. Potchlakker, D-Northstar.

It has been estimated that Little Johnny will raise $65,700 by the time he is tried on felonious nose-picking charges in Wilmington Juvenile Court. Some $64,699 will likely go to the child’s attorney, semi-well-known Wilmington criminal defense lawyer Blazing Bill Arsoni.

Meanwhile, tired of staring at the anti-aircraft gun, a group of South Delaware Dagtagastanians say they intend to start a support group for habitual nose-picking children.

“One may only stare so long at a rusting anti-aircraft gun,” said Bwzgen Mzlgenpzt. “Maybe we help the nose exploring kids.”

Oh See, see-questration, oh see what it has done, oh, oh, oh …

Bet you all thought Sequestration was nothing but talk and no action. Or as they say, somewhere, maybe Mexico, maybe Texas, that it was all s**t and no cows. It turns out that the latter was only a tiny bit close to reality.

So while you are sitting out on your porch, smelling the fresh hay and the real cow s**t, take a gander at this great Pro Publica story. The “public interest journalism” site has an interesting look at how the mandatory government spending cuts are slowly building a massive head of steam. The S-word from Capitol Hill is rapidly becoming as dirty a word as the four-letter slang S-word for a bodily function.

No cows indeed, sonny boy!

Sleepy Monday

Sunday I missed celebrating Cinco de Mayo. I had to work today and couldn’t celebrate Seis de Mayo. And at the same goes for most of the week. Today pretty much sucked. It wasn’t Stormy Monday and wasn’t a Rainy Day and Monday but it got me down nonetheless.

I’ve got to get out of this fatigue. I know it has something to do with the Cymbalta I am taking for Chronic Lower Back Pain, which it is not helping said pain. I wake up around 3 a.m. get back to sleep 4 or 5. Weird dream this a.m..

Good news is I am making some headway on a long-form freelance piece either for a magazine or Web site. So before I go to sleep, I say zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

It will be a cold day in May before I …

“May Day, May Day, May Day … “

It was 68 degrees about an hour ago at the Jack Brooks Regional Airport in Nederland. That is about 15 miles southeast of Beaumont. This is May 3 and here I’ve been on the Gulf Coast near the Texas-Louisiana border freezing my cojones off. I don’t have to give that, “sure it’s not Montana,” speech. But it is only 3 degrees warmer here than in the often-shivering spot where my dear friend Sally lives, a place called Pittsfield, Mass. For those of you unfamiliar, Pittsfield its bordered by Vermont to the north, Connecticut to the South and New York to the West. And to the East? Why just the rest of Massachusetts.

What made it less than tolerable today was the steady northwesterly wind. Shiver me timbers and me box o’ Cheerios!!!

Speaking of cereal, I’ve got to get something to eat. I don’t feel like cooking. It’s a long story why. But with food inside me, I’ll feel something better. Aye matey? Here’s to a good weekend, a fair wind, following sea and a Derby full of dough on your favorite horse.

“Weep no more, my lady … ”

 

Texas “pair” is Lifetime’s biggest star

Why would a masseuse drive 220 miles round-trip either driving through or around Houston traffic each day?

Money perhaps. Perhaps hell, yes, money, whether it’s real money or fake money. I am not talking about play money as in Monopoly. Rather, I speak of fake money as in currency of a television series. It is not about just plain oil and rub-a-dub-dub. Not when you go to “The Rub” and ask for Riley.

Riley is the fictional TV character of the Lifetime TV series “Client List.” The show basically revolves around two main characters. But the two stars have no individual names. That is because the collective main characters are the left and right breasts of the show’s star Jennifer Love Hewitt.

Jennifer_Love_Hewitt_2011

JLove Bravo, bravo, bravo! Such acting, such blahhhhhhhh, mmmmmm.

Well, JLove is cute. She fills out a dress, rather, well. Can you say “36-26-38?” Yeah she does.

In fact, the Waco-born pair and the vessel on which they marvelously ride are actually a well-constructed structure that reminds one why ships are referred to as she.

The show is a rather cheesy R-rated affair in which Riley (played by JLove and her mother portrayed by veteran movie and small screen star Cybil Shepard have trouble then solve the problems with JLove’s hooters. Well, It isn’t all that simple but that is kind of what goes.

Getting back to the long commute, outside scenes are shot here in Beaumont (Yee Ha! First the Hewitt Pair and now “Cops.” Okay, no more references to “Bad Boys, Bad Boys”) where Riley supposedly resides and drives all the way to Sugar Land. The latter is a suburb to the southwest of Houston. If you’ve ever been to both cities you might recognize the Sugar Land City Hall and the Beaumont business center (sushi, bar & Baptist Church?,) Tuscany Park on Dowlen Road. By the way, someone keeps putting flyers on my truck and my business car for a strip joint. Uh, I think most of my friends are married by now. Well, a couple are divorced, but ..

The show is doing pretty well. It’s leading Lifetime which is not quite everyone’s cup o’ tea but if you can have a “reality show” built around a bunch of fun-loving ya-hoos who make duck calls   then why not a show about some real boobs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A visit to the clinic with an art showing on the side

“Lo and behold!” That is what I said this afternoon while awaiting my meds from the pharmacy at our local Veterans Affairs outpatient clinic. No epiphanies usually jump up and slap the heart-worm medicine out of the dog that is my soul. I have been accused of being a sick puppy. If that is so, I would figure the illness which would be dogging me (sorry) might run toward some psychiatric affliction.

I don’t know what the hell I am talking about, in reality. I am not a dog. I don’t have heart-worm. And I don’t have canine psychosis. I have enough on the health end of the spectrum to keep me too busy to sit around making up imaginary dog diseases. Poor sick puppy.

Back to hold and below or whatever. Parked out under the clinic portico was about the coolest car I have seen since my friend Blake drove his father’s Rolls Royce through the bumpy and manure-littered cow pasture road leading to the farmhouse I rented in the East Texas countryside. And that was a while ago.

Watch out! Art on wheels!

Watch out! Art on wheels!

I don’t know what one would call it. Well, “Honda Accord” for a start. But the toil and trouble put into this plastered and painted auto made it some kind of keen collage of rolling steel. From the “Hot-rod Era” to the 50s sex-kittens such as Monroe, for this “Hollywood Daddy-O” (Sorry, I haven’t mastered my iPhone camera and plus it was a day in which my essential tremors were shakin’ harder than Ol’ Pop down at the corner malt shop.) Even local sights from our fair city’s American Graffiti past were represented, as below.

Rolling history of Southeast Texas.

Rolling history of Southeast Texas.

I have to mention here that the photos (from top to bottom) of the Calder Avenue Pig Stand in Beaumont (Texas), now closed, and the sights from Vidor and Beaumont’s, may be copyrighted. I am sharing these pictures here under the Fair Use Doctrine. Look it up if you so desire. You really should read it if you are going to post pictures online. Oh, sorry for the headlight or whatever that is at the Pig Stand. That’s the photo though.

Studying the exhibition, I linked up with the artist. He turned out to be a 64-year-old Air Force veteran although he looked somewhat younger, even with whitish shoulder-length hair and beard to match. I believe his name was Dave. Sorry, I could just say I have problem remembering names. But I was so taken with his work that the car art overtook any profundity the artist might have exclaimed. It wasn’t a boring conversation, I really enjoyed the talk. But art is where you find it.

I happened to have found it at the VA. And it was free and close up and cool.