Eight Feet Deep

First of all, whew. It’s nice to be off the Beaumont Public Library computers and on my laptop via Wi-Fi at Rao’s Bakery near Parkdale Mall. Here, I don’t have to contend with the over restrictive filtration system of the library which prevents, what I believe, are some of the most innocuous words from pizening all those little minds out there. I’m talking chillren.

Blood, kill, murder and, yes, even model, are among the words that I type but are made to go bye-bye courtesy of the censor-y-deprivation programs on the library computers.

But my old $250 Compaq Armada E500 and my lack of using it — and upgrading various programs — produces its own quirks. For instance, I am not able to play a video from a link sent to me from Kelli Perry. Kelli, as you may recall, is the mother of Stevi Perry, (pictured here).
Apparently, Stevi is in this video or has something to do with the video, else wise I am not sure why Kelli would send the link, which as soon as I get to a machine with the proper software I will view.

I must confess that I am not familiar with the artist in the video, Steve Azar. I am even less familiar with him than I am Cowboy Troy. But it means nothing, my lack of familiarity with those whom I have or have not heard. This is because I am not with it or happening or down with whatever you call in tune with the most up-to-date members involved with a particular segment of popular culture. I’m like square, daddy-o. That’s what they would have said of me in the olden days of wooden wheels and duck-ass haircuts. It’s funny. I noticed I could type “ass” and it would get published when I use library computers. Why does the censoring program think that “ass” is less dangerous to the minds of li’l chillren than “model” or “murder?”

Oh well, these are just things we shall have to ponder this weekend. Meanwhile, I am sure many will appreciate such a pretty face connected to my blog. Bonaduce to you.

So, I don’t know if I am doing something helpful here for all those Steve Azar fans but hopefully I am being good for the Stevi Perry fans as well as to Kelli, who has taken time to write or send me updates on her gorgeous daughter whom I am sure Kelli is most proud.

Was it the bard, the “Man in Black,” the late Johnny Cash, who said: ” … bad news travels like wild fire, good news travels slow … ?” That might be debatable with today’s rapid communication, an Internet here, a BlackBerry there, here an iPod, there an iPod, everywhere, an iPod, iPod … Well, you get the drift. Or so I hope because I am damn well confused. Oh yeah, good news.

No. 1. I apparently don’t have Parkinson’s Disease, according to a neurologist whom I saw this morning at the Houston VA Hospital. After performing a few tests with my hands and feet, the doc felt sure that what has been causing my hands to shake all over during the past year is a condition called essential tremor. You can read the description in the link from the Mayo Clinic, but essential tremor is kind of like the “Seinfeld” of movement disorders. It’s a tremor about nothing. The physicians speculate what causes it, but probably don’t have a clue so they just make something up in order that the disorder has a name. It’s kind of like people no longer dying of old age. That’s been cured. What kills is heart disease, respiratory failure, or Clara Harris in a Mercedes-Benz. But I digress.

No. 2. Awaiting the verdict of a background check, I have been tentatively offered and have tentatively accepted what appears to be a pretty decent part-time job. If nothing goes wrong, such as my background check turning up that I am really Vladmir Lennin, this job would allow me to survive somewhere else than inside my pickup truck. And the funds would also keep me going as I continue to pursue my real number one vocation — goat auctioneering. No silly, freelance writing.

It is a wait-and-see situation as to what effect, if any, this job might have on old EFD here. It’s not particularly time-wise but rather the position itself, which I will not mention. I mean, it’s not exactly like working for The Company or The Pope, but I still don’t know all the ground rules so we will wait and see. If push comes to shove, I might have to turn the blog over to one of my seldom-seen alter egos. But let’s just make sure I have the job and the cash starts rolling, rolling, rolling …

My sincere thanks to all those who have contributed during these lean times and remind you that the opportunity continues to exist for contributing. Once I begin work I will need things such as a roof over my head, electricity, running water, la, la … So it’s not to late to punch the little donation button and watch PayPal pay me. TTFN.

But, I’m Christie Brinkley can’t you just let me in for a little while?

With the approximate 19,600-some odd visits surfers have made to this blog since I started keeping count at some point in time, the “Visitor Path” function on my “StatCounter” page has allowed me to see who is interested in whatever subjects on which I have dwelled here. If only I knew why …

It isn’t with any great frequency, but I get visits it seems every month searching for young Stevi Perry, the beautiful Arkansas fashion I first mentioned in May 2005 while making fun of an article from a small-town newspaper. Apparently someone in Mountain Home, Arkansas, was wondering — from best I can tell around 8:14 Central Daylight Time last evening — what Stevi was up to.

It was somewhat of a surprise when Perry’s mother sent me a friendly e-mail shortly after that first mention.

“Hey, I typed Stevi’s name in and found where you noticed her article. That was pretty awesome…I am her mother. How did you find that article? You must be from somewhere around Arkansas. How wierd. That is pretty neat that you wrote something. Yeah, not much news in small towns.
Kelli Perry … “

Because of concerns over copyright violations (even more concerns than normal), I did not attempt to post a photo of the young beauty. But I did find a link with a picture and an update on her career, which includes news of Stevi who is to appear in an upcoming video with Cowboy Troy — who, for those of the clueless nature like me, is a “hick-hop” star. Whatever that is.

It’s always exciting when I can present something, at least halfway, useful. Good luck to Stevi and to Cowboy Troy. And good luck to Cowboy Troy’s horse, should he have one or more.

Among the many activities in which one unexpectedly participates during their lifetime includes the reading of biographies. Never did it cross my mind that someday I would read a biography of President-General Ulysses S. Grant.

Perhaps my inclination or disinclination toward reading about the Civil War hero and not-so-hot president is a holdover from my growing up Southern during a time that grandparents and even parents still held grudges about the war’s outcome. I never sensed my parents held a grudge against the Yankees so much as they were expected to harbor somewhat of a grudge. If I am not mistaken, my mother’s grandfather fought in the War Between the States so if there were some bad feelings toward the Union it was still rather fresh for some folks when I was growing up. Actually, I think the grudge was as much about Reconstruction for some Southerners rather than the Union kicking booty. But it’s all hoo-hah and it is what it is. I’m kind of glad it turned out the way it did if for no other reason the war was one of the few ventures in which Grant was a success, according to his biography, “Grant” by William S. “McTouchy” “McFeely.

Grant did well in the military but didn’t do so well outside of it. I know people like Grant in that respect. The military was their crowning glory. Or fill in the blank: police, firefighter, big man on campus, a strech in the joint, etc.

I don’t believe a picture exists of Grant in which he is smiling either. I got the impression he had depression and/or a drinking problem. It seems Ulysses would go off on a bender something a la Otis Campbell, the town drunk, who would let himself in and out of jail in the “Andy Griffith Show.” Of course, I wouldn’t expect Ulysses would have had such a set up as television was a ways off.

I spent the weekend at McFaddin Beach and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service cops who patrol the beach took notice of “Grant” in my front seat along with two other books. They were a bit nosy as police are at times. I supposed they were satisfied I wasn’t a Teddy Kaczynski sort, sitting around in the sun reading about Grant, and they bade me a good day.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the reading I did this weekend, first finishing off H.W. Brand’s “Lone Star Nation.” It was a very good telling of the non-fantasy version of Texas fight for independence. It was the version that I never learned until taking Texas History in college under one of the state’s premier Texas historian’s, Dr. Archie McDonald, at Stephen F. Austin State U. in Nacogdoches, Texas. (Home of the Lumberjacks and we’re okay!)

McFeely’s work on Grant is not a very riveting read but it tells the story of a man who just didn’t seem to be happy very much. In a way, reading about Grant makes me feel better because I have had and occasionally still do have my happy moments despite being annoyed somewhat by depression at times. And, I also smile in some pictures of myself, even the one taken by my late friend Waldo of a crimson crease in the middle of my forehead due to the hammer of a .44 magnum pistol. I doubt that would have been something which would have encouraged Grant to smile in a picture.

Say cheese? No, say “Make my day.” Come to think of it, “Dirty Harry” movies probably would have made Grant smile. Or not.

If there is one thing to be said about the Department of Veterans Affairs medical system, it is that it will keep you on your toes. That is, provided you have toes or can keep those toes after being treated by the VA.

This morning I received notice of my long awaited appointment at the Parkinson’s Clinic in Houston. I’ve waited — more or less — a year for it. This morning I received a letter saying the appointment is on March 14. It is great that my appointment will be sooner than later. The only problem, which no longer exists, was a potential logistical snafu.

You see, I usually take a van provided by the VA and a veterans organization that goes from the Beaumont VA Clinic to Houston and back. That way I don’t burn my gasoline or put wear and tear on the Tacomamobile. Since only three or so vans exist, the seats get taken up quite quickly on a reserved basis. Luckily, one seat was left for me, I was informed after calling this morning.

I am not sure what they will do at the Parkinson’s Clinic to determine whether or not I have Parkinson’s. Maybe they will take me up in NASA’s “Vomit Comet” and see how I react once I return to earth. What that has to do with Parkinson’s is probably nothing, as I just made that up. Nonetheless, I may or may not have peace of mind knowing one way or the other if I do have Parkinson’s. We shall see what we shall see.

From the Funny Department this morning: Read what Prez Gee Dubya says about his bipartisan commission getting to the bottom of the problems in the country’s the military and VA hospital. Apparently co-chair Donna Shalala has what it takes to determine what is wrong with those charged with the health care of our veterans. According to Bushie, Shalala:

” … lived after eight years in President Clinton’s administration, she knows what to look for, she knows the questions to ask.”

I suppose the prez meant that contrary to Vince Foster who neither lived nor served that long under Clinton’s administration. Freudian slip? Or by Victoria’s Secret camisole? We report. You scratch your head and say: “Huh?”