Eight Feet Deep

While going through some of my photos yesterday I came up with this picture of a fence. I took it in early April while I was visiting a friend who lives about 45 miles southeast of Denver. If you strain your eyes you can see mountains in the background. It’s not a very good picture. But that’s not the point. Fence posts are the point.

“Huh?” you might say/ask/exclaim/scream.

Posts. Great wooden posts. They yell for all the world to hear: “This is blah, blah, blah’s property.” Of course, I don’t know anyone named blah, blah, blah, as cool a name as it is.

Police officer: “Sir, what is your name?”
blah, blah blah: “blah, blah, blah.”

And off to the races you go for what is sure to be a fun-filled several minutes that most likely is capped off by being cuffed, fingerprinted and thrown in a filthy cell with a axe murderer.

I digress.

Posts. As objects go they are Daingerfielded, as in Rodney. They don’t get no (yes I know I’m using a double negative)respect.

For instance: Someone is dumb as a post. Well if you use the term pre-PC mode to mean unable to speak, then perhaps. But if you are inferring that someone is stupid, then that is just downright insulting. To the post. Posts aren’t stupid. Posts aren’t anything except a post.

I think we need to stand by our posts, now more than ever. The country can use a good post. Post oak post perhaps. A little alliterative but it should work. Keep me posted.

God how I hate to open the mailbox and see a SASE staring me in the face. Seeing in the pitiful pen work from my own hand as sender and addressee fills me with instant gloom. It’s like my parade was rained upon by a torrent of nuts and bolts, provided that I even had a parade to begin with.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, SASE stands for Self Addressed Stamped Envelope. It is what those publications which are still in the dark ages and want queries and submissions by snail mail require, so that two or three months later they can return the SASE and make some writer’s day a crap deluxe.

I will be honest here. I don’t like cold rejection. I hate it. I will walk through fire in a gasoline-soaked tuxedo to avoid rejection. And I’m not just talking about getting turned down by some publication.

What I have squandered in my life due to a fear of rejection I will never know. I have likely frittered away what may have been significant chunks of romance due to cold-shoulder-o-phobia. Chunks of romance, hmmm, I rather like that phrase!

So what the hell I am I doing trying to kick-start a freelance writing career if I have this unsettling fear of rejection? Well, it is something I’ve wanted to do for a very, very long time. It is a dream, just as I have had other dreams, some of which didn’t come true because I was afraid of being stuck in the reject pile like a fly in amber. Thus, I will just have to overcome my fear of rejection, at least insofar as publications are concerned.

I am taking a long weekend beginning today in order to recharge my batteries. Monday I will come back to the computer ready to go to work with new ideas and a determination to stick with the plan of some day making a living, however modest, at freelancing.

If I get past those fears of publications rejecting me then who knows? Perhaps I will get past my dread of rejection in other facets of my life. For now, I will just keep it simple.

Read some comments about man’s quest for immortality.

Apparently James Thomas Hughes, who died after a shootout with police in our fair city of Beaumont, Texas, yesterday, shot himself. The Beaumont Enterprise reported today that an autopsy showed Hughes shot himself in the chin. No word as to why this guy ran from police. He was out on bond for an attempted murder charge in Louisiana. Someone in a story this morning said Hughes, who reportedly received a dishonorable discharge from the Marine Corps for beating up a subordinate, may have had all those weapons because he works in a local gun shop. Hmmm. Does that mean a cowboy rides around all day with cows in his pickup? Or does a wild animal trainer have a tiger in his trunk? I think not.

Our big news this evening is a shootout some goober had with the police about noon. James Hughes, 38, of neighboring Orange County, Texas, ran a drug checkpoint the cops had set up off Interstate 10 for whatever reason. After leading police on a chase he ended up in a residential neighborhood outside of Beaumont and conducted an old fashioned shootout with police. Fortunately, the cops were a better shot. Hughes died at a local hospital.

KFDM-TV 6 reported Hughes seemed to be ready to personally take on Al-Quida. They said that in addition to the AR-15 semi-auto rifle Hughes was firing at police, he also had in his possession:

“a .308 Cal. rifle with a bayonet attached, a .30 Cal. rifle, three revolvers and a .357 semi-automatic handgun. All were loaded. ATF agents found ammunition in the duffel bags, as well as military paraphernalia including maps, meals-ready-to eat, and clothing. Hughes was wearing camouflage clothing.”

Apparently the camouflage didn’t work so well. I guess it’s a little late for a refund.

In addition to being ready for battle, KFDM reported Hughes also was in possession of conservative humorist P.J. O’Rourke’s “Peace Kills: America’s Fun New Imperialism.” Here is what O’Rourke’s publisher has to say about the book.

“Imperialism has never been so funny. ‘Americans hate foreign policy,’ says O’Rourke. ‘Americans hate foreign policy because Americans hate foreigners. Americans hate foreigners because Americans are foreigners… Being foreigners ourselves, we know what foreigners are up to with their venomous convents, lying alliances, greedy agreements, and trick-or-treaties.’ And yet America cannot ignore the world. ‘Our previous attempts at isolationism were successful,’ says O’Rourke. ‘Unfortunately they were successful for Hitler’s Germany and Tojo’s Japan.'”

Hey, I happen to like O’Rourke regardless of his politics. Some people just can’t take a joke.