Archive for June, 2012


I dreamed of Melissa Sue Anderson yesterday (I have erotic dreams all the time, but I usually can’t remember them).  Watching Little House on the Prairie as a kid, I was far too enamored of Karen Grassle (Caroline Ingalls) to notice her TV daughter Mary.  Anyway, when you dream of someone, I say go with it.  So I’m going with it.  Here’s a website devoted to the lovely actress:




The following is an item from the book, Destiny (1983).  It was written by Paul Aurandt.

Nice Catch

WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ happened on Sunday, July 26, 1981, at 7:30 in the morning.

     Tom and Lorri Deal, asleep in their apartment in suburban Chicago, awakened to hear a baby crying.  The crying continued for quite some while.  For so long, in fact, that young Tom eventually got out of bed to investigate.

     From his bedroom window he could see the apartment building across the parking lot.  And the balconies of that building.  And on one of those third-floor balconies, the sliding screen door was partly open.  And a months-old baby was crawling out onto the balcony and toward the balustrade.

     Tom Deal knew no one whom he might telephone in that apartment building.  So the twenty-two-year-old warehouse-man threw on his robe and dashed downstairs and across the parking lot.

     Directly above him he could still hear the baby crying.  Frantically, he rang the door buzzer of the apartment, hoping to awaken someone inside.  He rang the buzzer for five minutes before giving up.

     By now the baby had reached the balustrade, the row of upright iron posts supporting the balcony railing.  If Tom was not completely awake before, he was now.

     For ever so slowly, the baby stretched one leg between the balusters and then dangled that leg over the edge of the balcony.

     Tom shouted, “No, go back!”

     No use.

     Moments later, another plump little leg appeared.

     Now not even calling for help would help.  For by the time anyone had broken down the door to that apartment, it would be too late.  Tom just knew it.  The baby was going to fall.  And all Tom could do in the sweaty panic of those agonizing seconds was stretch out his arms–and pray.

     And the baby did slip between the balusters . . .

     And topple from the third-story balcony . . .

     And graze the second-floor balcony railing . . .

     And tumble forward and down, into the arms of young Tom Deal!

     The baby, ten-month-old Jennifer, was still crying but safe.  Tom took her to a nearby hospital emergency room to make sure she was all right, and she was all right.  All she needed was a diaper change.

     Local police investigated the case of this apparently neglected infant.  They discovered a baby-sitter had waited until three o’clock that morning for the child’s mother to return home.  Then the baby-sitter took little Jennifer to this other apartment.  Because there was no crib, the infant was left sleeping on a couch.  At 7:30 a.m. little Jennifer awakened, crawled over to the balcony sliding screen door which was not locked, and crawled out.

     That’s how it happened.

     But this is THE REST OF THE STORY.

     Saturday, the day before, rescuer Tom Deal was playing softball.

     He often plays softball on summer Saturdays.

     You have just read about the phenomenal catch he made the morning after–ten-month-old Jennifer, who had fallen three stories from the apartment balcony.

     Nice catch.

     But Tom’s no catcher.  Ask any of his teammates.  Tom Deal is a chronic butterfingers.

     For on Saturday, the day before he caught when it really counted, Tom flubbed a fly ball softball costing his team five runs!


I have an audiocassette of Johnny Cash music–it’s the oldest recording I’ve ever made.  Robby, a neighborhood friend of mine, had a stack of Johnny Cash albums at his house, and I recorded songs from all of them there.  I don’t know how old the tape is, but judging from my labeling of the songs–being in standard cursive writing, straight from the teacher’s chalkboard–I had to have been younger than thirteen.  The tape, when played, has cracks throughout, because the albums were so scratched.  But I don’t know how many times I’ve played this tape–I even played it in the boat on a fishing trip with my dad once.

When Johnny Cash died, I immediately went to Barnes & Noble to get a CD collection of his music.  And I found a box set called Johnny Cash: The Legend.  But I couldn’t afford it at the time. 

I finally purchased it through earlier this month.  And I just finished listening to the last song on this huge collection.  And I’ve put the set away, for now, to listen to a double CD of Al Jolson music–but I will definitely listen to my favorite songs from the four-disc Johnny Cash set again–and again–and again.  I’m tired of Johnny Cash music right now, but won’t remain so forever–how can I?  How can anyone ever forget him?  For me, Johnny Cash is the epitome of  country music. 

As aforementioned, I have a collection of memorized songs for singing, mainly while driving, and my favorite of all is Johnny Cash’s Folsom Prison Blues–I have no idea why, I just love to sing it!  Here’s a link to a somewhat souped up video of the song:

And there were many songs on this box set I had never heard before, one of my favorites being this one, The Wanderer, which he performed with U2.  There’s also a video of this which, for some reason, I can’t get the link to work for (really pisses me off when I can’t get a link to work–but Google “the wanderer u2 with johnny cash”, and you’ll see the video at the top).

Anyway, here’s a link to the box set I just listened to–you can get it here: 

And here’s what’s listed as the official website:

There’s so much I wish I could upload onto this post, so much more I could say about Johnny Cash.  But maybe less is better–maybe you can focus more on what aspects of this musical giant appeal to you most.  For he was (and is) a most complex, unique individual.


The only way to pull off a Sunday afternoon quickie with their eight-year-old son in the apartment was to send him out on the balcony with a Popsicle and tell him to report on all the neighborhood activities.  He began his commentary as his parents put their plan into operation:  “There’s a car being towed from the parking lot!” he shouted.  “An ambulance just drove by!”  “Looks like the Andersons have company,” he called out.  “Matt’s riding a new bike!  Looks like the Sanders are moving!  Jason is on his skateboard!”  After a few moments he announced, “The Coopers are having sex.”

Startled, his mother and dad shot up in bed.  Dad cautiously called out, “How do you know they’re having sex?”

“Jimmy Cooper is standing on his balcony with a Popsicle.”


What in the hell does Julie Newmar have to do with Fran Drescher?  I don’t know, but this photo of her is among those of Fran:


Yes, it’s that time of week again!  Three (almost four beers) and ten cups Irish coffee!  (Don’t worry–I don’t drink the Irish coffee till I get home, and don’t dare drive till the next day.)  The Singletons ate at an Oriental place this evening–wonderful dinner!  Then several of them went to see Men in Black III.  Now I’ve just seen Men in Black, and it was good enough–don’t see any reason to watch any sequels.  Sequels are almost never as good as the originals.  The Matrix is the best example–I hated the sequels, mainly because there’s almost no time actually spent in the Matrix itself!  The only film whose sequels were as good as the original was Star Trek: The Motion Picture.  That’s it!  Filmmakers should learn to quit while their ahead!  Anyway, I don’t know why anyone goes to theaters to see movies anymore.  The screens are too small, for one thing (except with IMAX of course)–and we now have DVD and Blu-ray, so we can watch movies at home!  I never even liked taking dates to movie theaters–never knowing whether I should put my arm around their shoulders, but mostly not being able to converse with them.  These days, it’s best to watch movies alone.  In the past, people had no choice–but now we do.  There’s no social interaction in watching movies–no conversation–everyone’s focused on the screen.  To hell with that!  With dinner, there’s social interaction.  At parties/dances, there’s social interaction.  I see kids walking around in groups, on cellphones!  What the hell?  What’s the point in hangin’ with your friends if you’re busy talking to someone who’s not there, on a goddamned cellphone?  I really despise cellphones–and feel that usage of them should be completely banned, especially while driving.  In my opinion, the cellphone is the most socially destructive invention of all time–even moreso than television!  But I’ve mentioned this before.

My dog is terrified, not only of thunder, but of rain!  And Florida is literally the Thunderstorm State!  (That “Sunshine State” logo is one of the biggest scams of all time–there are more thunderstorms, year-round in Florida than in any other state in the U.S., this is a documented fact!)  But still I refuse to return her.  She’s too good a dog.  She has no behavioral problems at all, just quirks, as every dog does.  I wouldn’t return her (to the agency from which I adopted her) unless it were absolutely necessary.  She has developed the habit of getting on my bed when I’m gone for more than an hour or so, but I just have to shut my bedroom door.  And this is only because she wants to be around me.  Even in her adoption notes, it’s said she’d follow you wherever you go–and that’s quite true.  She wants to be wherever I am.  And how can I not be flattered–even touched by this?

I shaved off the Amish beard mentioned in my previous drunken post–even that was annoying me (irritating my skin–I have a very wiry beard for some reason).  In fact, I got a Bruce Willis style haircut yesterday–and it feels wonderful!  It is so hot and humid here in Northwest Florida, and the longer my hair, the hotter my head!  If I lived in Alaska or Siberia or Scandinavia, maybe I’d let my hair grow out to it’s full glory in the wintertime (and it really is my best physical feature–very much like Ted Danson’s).  But we don’t even have a winter here anymore–global warming is absolutely real, and it is increasing exponentially!  I wasn’t convinced of global warming until Hurricane Ivan hit here in 2004, I’ve been convinced ever since.  The planet is naturally entering a warm phase–the only question is how much we humans are aggravating it.

Here I am getting all philosophical again!  I considered changing my Gravatar profile earlier, but feel I should wait till I’m sober.  I could put an actual picture of myself on it, but don’t feel safe enough to do that yet.  Hell, I haven’t even joined Facebook, though a long-distance friend of mine has been urging me to join it.  I did consider it, at one time–but decided against it after reading its vague disclosure policies.  Why should I give my personal information to an impersonal corporation?  It’s dangerous enough to have a blog.  Sure, if someone is out to get you badly enough, he/she will try–but why make it easier?  (Reminds me of the line from Nirvana’s Territorial Pissings: “Just because you’re paranoid don’t mean they’re not after you”–that is so funny, and so true!)

I’ve been listening to a box set of Johnny Cash CD’s I recently purchased, and will next listen to a double-CD of Al Jolson songs.  I have the most eclectic musical taste of anyone I know!  You want to hear something really wild, get the Pat Boone (yes, Pat Boone) CD, In a Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy.  It’s the only Pat Boone album I have, and the only one I’d ever get!  He does big-band/swing takes on classic heavy metal songs–my favorite is his take on Metallica’s Enter Sandman, which sounds better than Metallica’s original!  Some of the lyrics he changes: particularly in Nazareth’s Love Hurts.  And the changes make sense.  In the original, Love is like a flame that burns you when it’s hot.  Well, every flame is hot!  So he changes flame to stove, which makes alot more sense!  The only take on his album I really hate is that of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven.  His take is wonderful up to the next-to-last line.  He changes, When all are one and one is all to When three-in-one is all-in-all (an unmistakable reference to the Trinity) and that ruins it!  Even with that subtle change, one of the Christian TV networks (TBN I think) fired Pat Boone, discontinuing his Gospel America show.  And it was only after he explained that the heavy metal album was a joke that they finally forgave him, and let him back on their network.  But it wasn’t a joke.  Even in the liner notes, he thanks his wife for not divorcing him.  I had alot of respect for Pat Boone after he did that CD–but lost it when he claimed he wasn’t serious in making it.  One should stick to his/her ideals, and should never give-in to public pressure.  Anyway, I still highly recommend Pat Boone’s In a Metal Mood: No More Mr. Nice Guy CD–it’s probably the most original album ever made by anyone!

I’m in the mood for Fran Drescher–I don’t know how many episodes of The Nanny I’ve watched just to see this woman in action, even her naturally whiny voice turns me on!



Google Venus of Willendorf, and you will get plenty of information about it.

Here are just a few links:

And the image of the Venus of Willendorf is taken from

What does this have to do with Gregory Stock’s question, and my answer, in the previous post?  Notice that this prehistoric representation of a human female has an unmistakably feminine body–yet no face at all!


Another question from Gregory Stock’s book is this:

Would you rather your lover had a beautiful face and an average body, or an average face and a beautiful body?

An average face and a beautiful body, of course.



I shared this with a poetry writers’ group earlier–and felt it appropriate to post it here, as well.  Because bloggers are writers.  And you know how many conflicting opinions you get regarding your writing.  This is from a 1912 edition of Aesop’s Fables, translated by V.S. Vernon Jones. 

You may laugh at the title–after all, I did!  But the change in meaning of a certain word even makes it more poignant today!



A Miller, accompanied by his young Son, was driving his Ass to market in hopes of finding a purchaser for him.  On the road they met a troop of girls, laughing and talking, who exclaimed, “Did you ever see such a pair of fools?  To be trudging along the dusty road when they might be riding!”  The Miller thought there was sense in what they said; so he made his Son mount the Ass, and himself walked at the side.  Presently they met some of his old cronies, who greeted them and said, “You’ll spoil that Son of yours, letting him ride while you toil along on foot!  Make him walk, young lazybones!  It’ll do him all the good in the world.”  The Miller followed their advice, and took his Son’s place on the back of the Ass while the boy trudged along behind.  They had not gone far when they overtook a party of women and children, and the Miller heard them say, “What a selfish old man!  He himself rides in comfort, but lets his poor little boy follow as best he can on his own legs!”  So he made his Son get up behind him.  Further along the road they met some travellers, who asked the Miller whether the Ass he was riding was his own property, or a beast hired for the occasion.  He replied that it was his own, and that he was taking it to market to sell.  “Good heavens!” said they, “with a load like that the poor beast will be so exhausted by the time he gets there that no one will look at him.  Why you’d do better to carry him!”  “Anything to please you,” said the old man, “we can but try.”  So they got off, tied the Ass’s legs together with a rope and slung him on a pole, and at last reached the town, carrying him between them.  This was so absurd a sight that the people ran out in crowds to laugh at it, and chaffed the Father and Son unmercifully, some even calling them lunatics.  They had got to a bridge over the river, where the Ass, frightened by the noise and his unusual situation, kicked and struggled till he broke the ropes that bound him, and fell into the water and was drowned.  Whereupon the unfortunate Miller, vexed and ashamed, made the best of his way home again, convinced that in trying to please all he had pleased none, and had lost his Ass into the bargain.

(On a side note:  I can’t think of this without thinking of the song, Garden Party, by Ricky Nelson–in which the chorus reads:  “But it’s all right now, I learned my lesson well.  You see, you can’t please everyone, so you got to please yourself.”  For further information on this song, I recommend this video:, as well as this one: