Eight Feet Deep

I am becoming convinced that my desktop computer is possessed by demons. Perhaps it has Demon 7.0 or some such. It either has demon possession, a virus or is just a temperamental sumbitch. I don’t know but perhaps it has a touch of all three. Some days it operates on all cylinders and other days — like today — it’s saying in a Mr. Bill voice:

“Oh no. Go away, leave me alone! All I want to do is sleep!

Perhaps I shouldn’t speak ill of my computer lest it explodes. I thought that was going to happen the other day. It started making a ticking sound. As I explained to my computer wiz friends in North Texas, if you wanted to be optimistic you’d say the noise sounded like a clock. If you are a pessimist (Who? Me?) then you might believe a timing device was inside your machine such as those used for, as Inspector Clouseau would say, “A bimb.” I also couldn’t cut the damn machine off. I finally resorted to throwing the power switch on the back of the computer. Weird!

So, short of reinstalling the operating system, I really don’t know what I should do. Should I gently stroke my computer and hum a soothing melody like “Fairies Wear Boots?” Or should I use tough love and threaten the machine with my use of its evil cousin the laptop? Or, should I just go bury my head in my pillow and think about it? You make the call? No. I’ll make the call this round. But thanks for offering.

A boat carried a mile or so by Rita from the water near Sabine Pass.
I just finished watching a special our local KFDM-TV 6 that looked back at Hurricane Rita in Southeast Texas. Lately all three local TV stations have had these annoying promo ads to claim they were there during the crunch time of the storm for the viewers. Maybe so. But I wonder how many viewers were left to see the local reports, especially when nearly all of the electricity was clobbered throughout these stations’ viewing area? Not to mention probably most of those viewers were hundreds of miles away from the local TV signals in safe places watching people like Fox News’ Shepherd Smith getting blown down by Rita’s wind in their home environs.

With that said and realizing that it is November “Sweeps” time for local stations, I did find the Channel 6 special to be a good recap of what happened during those first few days of the storm.

After some time to reflect on the storm I think maybe I really would have been safer at my apartment 45 miles from the coast than at my brother’s home almost 80 miles away from the Gulf. That sounds kind of weird I suppose. But Rita turned out to be hell on trees. And although you can still see blue tarps covering probably an average of every 10th house on my street for a two-mile stretch, this area was not then — and certainly not now — as covered with timber as where I rode out the storm. And the wind turned out be just as fierce where I “evacuated” as it was here in Beaumont at my apartment.

Theoretically no one was safe near where Rita made landfall. The photo I took above of the boat at Sabine Pass and quite a distance from the water is a good example. The Channel 6 report told of a couple of people who emerged from the hurricane at Sabine Pass, not too far west of where Rita came on shore, who were dazed and very lucky to be alive.

Alive is the operative word. No accurate death count exists that I have heard as to Rita’s damage. Channel 6 said something like 119. That is the most I’ve heard so far. I’ve also heard figures given for many less casualties. Very few died from the direct effects of the storm. That is not to lessen the sadness of those who lost loved ones.

But really, I said this just after Rita and I will say it forever: “We were fortunate.” And unfortunately part of that fortune stems from nearby Hurricane Katrina that preceded Rita by a week or two. We are still trying to figure out all that happened during Katrina. However, a lot of people here in Southeast Texas — from Western Louisiana to Surfside Beach near the southwest of Houston — took notice of Katrina. And they got out of Rita’s way.

One thing the TV report I saw tonight brought back was just how long this storm went on. Hurricanes are slow and noisy creatures. I have said before that I wasn’t really scared during the hurricane. If I had been able to fully hear, however, the huge trees in my brother’s yard being uprooted during that howling storm I can’t say how I might have felt then. That is of little consequence though. All that matters is that I’m here today. My family is here today. And although a lot of people lost stuff, that is all many of them lost, stuff.

Quick. What pops into your mind when you think Dutch? Treat? Rembrandt? Sex and drugs? Well, whatever you envision you probably aren’t thinking Tex Ritter are you? That is unless you live in Nederland, Texas, and happen to know who is Tex Ritter.

For those of you who do not know, Tex Ritter was a singing cowboy. He was much unlike the whistling cowboys, or the mumbling cowboys, or the clicking Kalahari bushmen cowboys. Trust me. Tex Ritter was a singing cowboy and country-western star who also spawned the late John Ritter. Perhaps he spawned the future “Three’s Company” and “Eight Simple Rules” star while swimming upstream. But enough with the fishy explanation of whom Tex Ritter was. I’m afraid that doesn’t get us any closer to why we should associate the Dutch with Tex Ritter.

The best I have been able to piece this puzzle together is that Tex Ritter lived at one time in Nederland, Texas, which is nestled among the cornucopia of petrochemical plants between Beaumont and Port Arthur. Nederland — which sounds one hell of a lot like “Netherlands” — was invented by a railroad tycoon who wanted a settlement for Dutch immigrants. Thus, we have the Dutch connection to Nederland and perhaps to Tex Ritter. Maybe.

Tex Ritter Park — home to this Dutch-like windmill (actually a museum that is air-conditioned)– is a rather scenic park in downtown Nederland. The windmill seems to have lost portions of its blades, perhaps yet another victim of Hurricane Rita. Also, Tex Ritter has been dead for more than 30 years. But that shouldn’t change anything. I don’t really think you can have enough Dutch windmills in U.S. parks named for singing cowboys. I mean, it all makes total sense to me. Sort of.

Try as I might to not have a small mind about such things, I just can’t understand how people can be afraid of clowns. Well, I suppose if you remember John Wayne Gacy … But of course people can fear anything. They fear fear itself. Some people are afraid of a Jennifer Lopez ass — if not fearful of J Lo her own damn self. I knew a guy in high school who had a phobia about birds. He was a pretty big guy and if we were playing softball and a bird flew over you had best made way for him.

But think of all the frightful people and situations in life — terror attacks, random acts of violence, mugging, earthquake, hurricane, being hit my a meteor, teeth cleaning. And we, the collective we, are afraid of a clown. We are afraid of a bird. We are afraid of spiders and snakes. Okay, I’m a little frightened by snakes. I’m kind of ambivalent about heights. Certain insane street people also kind of give me the willies from time to time.

Divine? Good gracious yes. Were I more normal would Divine frighten me? I don’t know. I think being normal would scare me even more. Mediocrity should leave me shaking as well. But it doesn’t because if mediocrity didn’t exist then those people of excellence who aspire to be failures would … be excellent failures? I never claimed to be a philosopher.

Nothing to fear but fear itself? Not if you’re a turkey. But what of fearing turkeys? Undercooked turkeys are especially something of which to be wary. Remember that this Thanksgiving. Should you fear the turkey? If it’s undercooked. Damn straight. You don’t want to have all sorts of weird stuff shooting out your orifices like Mount St. Helens, especially while watching the football game after Thanksgiving dinner.

So the fear of clowns is not at all unreasonable when you consider so much is out there within this great big universe that can get you. Sweet dreams. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite nor let the thing under the bed grab you.

It seems a lot of people have been telling me both literally and figuratively for a long, long time that I’m going to Hell.

Certain mortals among us suppose their knowledge of the Holy Bible enables them to make such a judgment. It has always been rather disquieting to know that if indeed Hell exists — somewhere other than in supermarket checkout lines — that certain actions or behavior will send you to that big steaming, fiery pit when you’re no mas. It is especially frightening when you’re a child. Perhaps that is why I liked to pretend I was Jesus when I was a kid.

Now we have more mortals making all sorts of pronouncements about what God will do to you for various indiscretions. For instance, Pat Robertson’s recent prediction that a Pennsylvania town will face doom and destruction for voting out the school board that demanded intelligent design be taught to students. Well, I guess Pat and the rest of the Bible beaters can do whatever they think is best.

Personally, I have my own list of people who should go to Hell for their misgivings. And this list does not really have a whole hell of a lot to do with religion. I will try to come up with lists of people I think should go to Hell from time-to-time. I think it should be quite fun. Here are my first listings:

1. The inventor of the smiley face. It is one of those mysteries of life just who created this ghastly icon. But whomever got the ball rolling surely must know that if there is a Hell he (somehow I think it had to be a guy who came up with this) will burn there to a crisp. Smiley smiles but behind that mask is an insidious doom merchant urging that you grin while you’re getting gored by the ox of life. I especially hate pop-up smileys. They are like the jack-in-the-box of an impending nuclear winter. Jeeeezzzzz. They give me the freakin’ creeps.

2. Pat Robertson. I don’t care whether he burns or is Lucifer’s maitre’d. I wish he would go straight to Hell and the sooner the better.

3. Mosquitoes.

4. Tom Cruise. And would he please take his Scientology and his dime store pop psychology with him.

5. Driver’s who tailgate me. I can never be sure but perhaps a strong chance exists that this constant pain in my neck and the related two cervical disc surgeries may have had its origins from the person who hit my car in the ass end while I was at a stoplight. It is annoying, tail-gating. It is dangerous. To paraphrase Baghdad Bob: The stomachs (and all the rest) of those who tailgate me should roast in Hell.

That’s it for now. Have a hell of a nice day!