Category: Orphans

After work I spent a bit of free time filling out my passport application. Am I going somewhere? Probably. I don’t know where. Just in case I do travel, even to Mexico or Canada (there’s a good idea, the latter,) I need a card or a passport.

I am sure this will come as a shocker to those who think I’m a jet-setter. I’ve never had a passport before. I had a big yellow immunization card when I was in the Navy. Within a year I had visited Acuña, Juárez, and Tijuana in Mexico; Olangapo and Subic City in the Philippines; Suva, Fiji; the Marshall Islands; Auckland, Nelson and Whangeri, New Zealand; Newcastle, NSW; Devenport, Tasmania, and Perth, Western Australia, all in Australia; Jakarta, Indonesia; and Taipei and Keelung, Taiwan. That’s a pretty good dance card, all without a passport. All travel was, of course, courtesy of my poor Uncle Sugar (Sam.)

It was called to my attention by friends, some 10 or more years ago, that I needed a passport. The passport card wasn’t needed everywhere outside the US of A then. My friends said: “You never know when you might have to go somewhere.” I was working as a reporter then and not making much cash. I figured if I needed a passport I’d have time to get the funds to purchase one. The demand back then was not nearly as that of today.

Sure enough, a time came when I needed one. I could have gone as a reporter to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. That’s right, to the terrorist jail to see how nice our forces where treating the captives. Like they would waterboard one or make the prisoners stand in a naked human pyramid as happened in Abu Ghraib. Note: I covered the court martial of the alleged ring-leader at that big clusterf**k in Iraq, former Army Spc. Charles Graner. What a class act. Back to the subject, I never went to Gitmo because I didn’t have a passport or the time to get one. I also never went to Iraq, although I volunteered to be an “imbed” or is that “inbred?”

Perhaps I may go to some foreign land this summer, whether it be Canada, the Caribbean, Central America or Mississippi. Just joking, my old Mississippi friends. Playboy listed Old Miss as the No. 9 “party school” in the country. Back in the 70s, a couple of years before I was discharged from the Navy, my alma mater was on that list. Yesiree Bob, Stephen F. Austin, party like it’s 1979.

I had planned to do a couple of mini-stories or pieces. Yeah, kind of like Hershey Kisses, or a couple of pint-sized hookers (Sorry.) The Playboy list was one such short-short. The other took place right “cheer” as Andy Griffith would say. A news story happened here in Beaumont, Texas, where I live and at my favorite (and only) GI Surplus store.

It seems a guy was cleaning out his 75-year-old uncle’s apartment when he found a hand grenade. He didn’t know if it was live or a dummy grenade. The latter like you often see at GI Surplus stores. I bought one once but not at this store, or in this town. I don”t know whether I still have it. But it was definitely  a dummy. My Dad bought it for me, and he wouldn’t let me play with a live grenade. I don’t think he would, at least.

The fellow cleaning out his Uncle’s apartment wasn’t sure if the explosive was real or a dummy. So what did he do? What would you do? Call the police, or fire department or the Army? I lived about 45 miles from Fort Polk, La., growing up. When someone found leftover grenades from the 1941 Louisiana Maneuvers, and there were quite a few back in the 60s, folks would call Fort Polk. Or, they’d call the sheriff and he’d call Fort Polk. The bomb squad came over. Poof, everything was hunky dory.

But Fort Polk isn’t quite as close to Beaumont. So the guy with the grenade called the police and fire, right? No, of course not, he put the grenade in the glove compartment of his pickup truck and hauled it to the GI Surplus Store on College Street. The story is easily found. It has a big rocket out front and an anti-aircraft gun, all of which saw many better days.

 “He decided it was “surplus” so he would bring it to GI Surplus,” said a press release from Beaumont police spokeswoman Officer Carol Riley.

Officer Riley said the fire department and Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agents took the grenade to “headquarters” for disposal.

Wait, they took it to the fire headquarters downtown? And where is ATF located? Are they in the Bank of America building on Calder at 10th, the same place as the FBI? Hmm. I don’t want to know. Well I do want to know but it’s not worth it to keep on typing this thing. This monster is now at 800 freaking words. Make that 856. Goodbye!

 

 

 

Whatever the phase of the moon may be never really concerns me. Perhaps at a younger age I might have had my suspicions of the chaos that allegedly surrounded the full presentation of that heavely body.

Almost everywhere I have lived were those who believed as I once did that they would be in for the crazy of craziness when that big old moon shined forth. Among the most stident of believers were firefighters, cops and other emergency workers. As a fireman in the 70s and 80s of last century one might have seen an over abundance of calls, including seemingly non-ending burners, or being summoned by the police to remove a naked man from a tree. Just to name a couple of examples.

Some fire or police officers would go so far as to schedule a day of leave if the calendar showed a full moon rising.

More than 30 years later I have accepted chaos as a routine pain in the ass of the universe. S**t happens. As that randomness occurs does it seem we are all fair game for nature piling on upon our misery.

Some of my examples:

My laptop began screwing up late last week. With the help from a HP technician we tried the factory reset but it was to no avail. This has happened to me once before on the same machine. It appears the companywill ship a different laptop or that is what I was led to understand. We shall see. I am fortuante that my warranty was extended during the last round of laptop disruptions.

Yesterday, I took my business vehicle in for body work. The Chevy Cruze had sustained a parking lot dent. One has to look closely to notice it. Stll, it will make the dealership $1,660 and some cents. I am sure glad I don’t have to pay for that.

But wait: Yesterday in traffic my 1998 Tacoma pickup died and would not restart. It has been running poorly for some time. More often than not,  I did not have the money for what I feared a repair job might cost. It turns out that it will cost more than I had imagined. The wrecker ride was $65 and the mechanic quote just a short time ago was a whopping $1,090. Ouch!

What perhaps turns this run of misfortune on its head is, for once, I can afford a hit like that. The money comes from a pool that I hoped will help with retirement but to do anything I need to do, I suppose my “motor-vation” is required.

I took a hit. And I doubt the moon had any part in the bad luck streak. I am not sure I believe in so-called “silver linings” Such inconvenient times though seem to somehow work out. Or else, they don’t.

 

No doubt an excess of conservative weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth in the next few days will mark the aftermath of the Obama administration’s new clean air program.

The Clean Power Plan sets a target of reducing U.S. carbon production by 32 percent — about 870 tons — over the next 15 years. Power plants are the largest contributor of climate change in the country, producing about 1/3 of all carbon emissions. No limits had been set on carbon pollution until today.

The United States is leading by example today, showing the world that climate action is an incredible economic opportunity to build a stronger foundation for growth,” said EPA Administrator Gina McCarthy. “The valuable feedback we received means the final Clean Power Plan is more ambitious yet more achievable, so states can customize plans to achieve their goals in ways that make sense for their communities, businesses and utilities.”

The plan lets states pick two distinct ways to reduce carbon production. One way would allow specific plants to develop performance rates. States may also pick programs allowing varied measures including incentives based on renewable energy or  through improvement of energy efficiency.

A “cap-and-trade” plan in which companies could bid on pollution is encouraged by the Obama plan but will not be mandated.

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton — coincidentally booked today for felony security fraud in Collin County, Texas — has said he intended to sue the federal government over the plan. Other Republicans such as Texas Gov. Greg Abbott has pouted about the clean air initiative saying it will drive electric bills sky high and will threaten the power grid reliability. Such claims have been refuted by Obama. The president has said the plan will save the average American family in fuel costs $85 by 2030.

Additionally, Obama said the electrical program has both benefits to the U.S. economy and to human health. The administration pointed out that some 3,600 premature deaths and 1,700 non-fatal heart attacks can be prevented in the country by 2030.

The administration has not backed off on climate change predictions even though conservatives have managed to change some American minds as to whether such changes even exist.

I took the photo in this post on Friday upon flying home via Dallas from Albuquerque. The Dallas area was well masked with smog, haze, ozone whatever one chooses to call it. Hot summer days like the one pictured can influence the hazy air through a number of avenues. Pollution can come from cars blowing smoke down the freeways or waiting in drive-throughs for a taco, lawn mowers and from other sources including power plants.

One only can get up in higher altitudes to see where the visible pollution haze ends. Oh, the regional jet on which I flew was also doing its part to pollute. Still, one has to go a little bit out of this world to see what is dirty in between the pure blue skies and terra firma.

To paraphrase Bob Seger’s ode to youth and aging, “Night Moves,” “I woke this morning to the sound of thunder, my summer sheet I climbed back under, started humming a song from nineteen eighty-two, ain’t it funny how the time moves, when you don’t have a clock with Snooze, ain’t it funny how the time moves. With waking closing in.”

Yet here it is the Fourth of July in Southeast Texas. Thunderstorms blowing in from late morning to early evening. All is hot and sticky in between.

I probably could have gone online to find which restaurants were open and which weren’t, same goes with grocery stories. But many’s the time you can count on Jason’s Deli. I am talking the original one built in the Gateway shopping center. The center’s parking lot, facing Eleventh Street was the scene of a Beaumont teen “hanging out” place in the 70s, of the kind that brings up Seger’s Night Move album. At least, that was the time period I remember hanging out there. Time really doesn’t matter because I was from up in the Pineywoods where they had to pipe light in.

Gateway went the way of many small city shopping centers when the local mall was opened in 1974. Now the mall is a beginning point for what is called a “shopping district.” Big boxes and Best Buys up the wazoo.-

The area around Gateway, kind of mid-city Beaumont, is once again picking up. A large minority population sprung up to the center’s south. A decent amount of medical developed has made a horseshoe of sorts around it. Baptist Hospital of Southeast Texas was across the street from Gateway, where years back a traffic circle sat confusing people coming to and from the big cross-highway College Street. It is technically still U.S. 90, but more so on the western edge of Beaumont where it provides a less traffic-infested route to northeast Houston than Interstate 10, which takes drivers into the original Central Business District in Big-H-Town. One does endure quite a few stoplights and speed limits on Highway 90. It isn’t a bad ride though.

Back in Beaumont, about a quarter-mile to the east of Gateway stands Memorial Hermann Baptist Hospital, the second largest in the city and the predecessor of the old Baptist Hospital.

Amidst the area between downtown and the West End of Beaumont, a few places sprouted up. A new Chick-Fil-A. Probably most welcome and something that likely will enliven the mid-City more is the new H-E-B grocery. The new store, which opened a few weeks ago, replaced a small H-E-B a few blocks down on South Eleventh and another small store in northern Beaumont. It is by no means the biggest type of H-E-B, as is in the West End Shopping District, but is about half that largest size. Still, it has practically all the area’s other largest stores have. Today, which is Independence Day, it had even more.

Upon entering the parking lot I could hear the sounds of a Zydeco band blasting away. The band was under a canopy with benches. Whole dinners and frozen drinks were for sale out there as well. I caught a few minutes of music before leaving:

That is Southeast Texas for you, otherwise known as “Cajun Texas.” If one didn’t need more of a reminder of where they are, the news broke last night that the first man to be killed by an alligator in Texas for more than 200 years took place early Friday morning. It happened about 20 miles away  in Adams Bayou in Orange County, to the east of Beaumont and between Beaumont and Louisiana.

The man reportedly was reminded the “family-friendly” place where he had been drinking had a sign outside expressly telling people an alligator was in the bayou and to stay out of the water. A justice of the peace told the media the man said “F*** the alligator,” then jumped in the water. The man’s arm was bitten off and he had deep wounds in the torso that probably killed the man rather quickly. It would kind of remind me of the old Jerry Reed song “Amos Moses,” however it was truly tragic despite how ill-advised the man’s last acts were.

That’s the way things are in Cajun Texas. I can’t say much else except I wish everyone a Happy Independence Day.