Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday - September 23, 2009
Well... I get home from an extradition run and what's there to greet me? My son and his girlfriend with a positive EPT. Now they're calling me grandpa.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sunday - September 13, 2009
Wow. It's been ten years since I left law enforcement. Being back in it now, it seems like I never left. Though I'm not in an enforcement position, as an extradition agent, I get to move about in the county jails and federal detention centers easily.
I'm not a bail agent (Bounty Hunter). Extradition is where we work for the county where a fugitive is wanted, and go to the county/state where the fugitive is being held, take custody of him/her, and return them to the county of original jurisdiction. It can be exciting at times, but normally, it's routine "Cuff-um and move-um."
Enough for now. See you on the return trip.
I'm not a bail agent (Bounty Hunter). Extradition is where we work for the county where a fugitive is wanted, and go to the county/state where the fugitive is being held, take custody of him/her, and return them to the county of original jurisdiction. It can be exciting at times, but normally, it's routine "Cuff-um and move-um."
Enough for now. See you on the return trip.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Back... for a minute
I have a day off and thought I'd catch up on my writing and blogging. I'm working as an extradition agent, traveling from state to state taking fugitives into custody and returning them to where they fled.
Good job, but hella long hours driving.
I'll be back on the road tomorrow, so I have to get my gear cleaned and ready to go. I'll write again when I get some more down time.
Good job, but hella long hours driving.
I'll be back on the road tomorrow, so I have to get my gear cleaned and ready to go. I'll write again when I get some more down time.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Thursday - August 20, 2009
It seems that book sales have plummeted. I am taking a job as an extradition agent for a while. Gotta pay the bills somehow, right?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wednesday - August 19, 2009
The week is half gone... that's it. Come on... even writers run out of things to say sometimes.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Tuesday - August 18, 2009
Why can't Tuesday be Friday? Then we'd only have one day left until the weekend.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Friday - August 14, 2009
Ahhhh. Sweet Friday. The wife is home (Furlough day for California Sate Service) and we’re gonna work around the house. So no writing for me today.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Thursday - August 13, 2009
Thursday's here already? Time sure flies when you're having fun.
The radio interview was a hit. There were over 400 downloads of my interview so far.
The radio interview was a hit. There were over 400 downloads of my interview so far.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Wednesday - August 12, 2009
Last night I was interviewed on a national internet radio station discussing my book and its origin. The interview went very well and I was impressed with the host and the series of questions she asked. Loved it.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tuesday - August 11, 2009
On August 11, 2009, at 5:00 pm PST, I will be on Passionate Internet Voices Talk Radio discussing my book and its release.
Tune in at http://www.internetvoicesradio.com
Tune in at http://www.internetvoicesradio.com
Monday, August 10, 2009
Monday - August 10, 2009
Monday, where does the weekend go? I was just getting ready for Saturday and Monday slapped me in the face.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Thursday - August 6, 2009
It's Thursday already? I'm not ready. There's too much to do. What happened to Wednesday? It's too close to Friday. Mommy, make the bad man go away....
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Wednesday - August 5, 2009
Wednesday is the point in time where half of the week is over and half the week is left to live through.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Monday - August 3, 2009
Here we go again. Another week. Another Monday. Another reason to stay in bed until Tuesday.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Thursday - July 30, 2009
What day is this? Oh, yeah, Thursday. I got so excited about Wednesday that I completely forgot today.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Wednesday - July 29, 2009
Okay... It's Wednesday. We've made it this far and I'm sure with a little effort we can make it another day.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Tuesday - July 28, 2009
Not a lot to say today. Long night with my son... still withdrawing from the ecstasy. He’s been clean for almost two weeks, but some nights are worse than others until it's all out of his system and out of his mind.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Monday - July 27, 2009
Well, we all managed to survive the weekend, and here we are again at the beginning.
Hope all is well with everyone on this thread...
Hope all is well with everyone on this thread...
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday - July 24, 2009
Ahhh. Sweet Friday. The final day of the work week. My wife is home (California State Employee: Furlough Day) and we're planning a fun day of remodeling a bathroom. Life is good.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday - July 22, 2009
Well, it appears that last night I caused a falling-out with a person I thought I was a colleague with, but it seems that I am reduced to a mere underling, apparently a childish one at that.
It seems that I had mistakenly outed Ms. Cinamon Vann’s “private” e-mail address to the world when, at her behest, I attempted to recruit other writers to her fledgling Sacramento Writers Forum. Unfortunately, at least for me, she blasted off when she discovered that I had sent posts to all of my other groups regarding any writer wanting to join her new group.
Well, she has now sent me an e-mail that sounds more like a parent scolding an errant child than an adult speaking to a colleague.
I have resigned from her “group,” and I would not redress anyone who did the same. There is no reason for an adult to address another adult the way she has, and I have found through later research, that Cinamon Vann is so caught up with herself, that she has no tolerance for anyone that does ascend to her lofty throne.
It seems that I had mistakenly outed Ms. Cinamon Vann’s “private” e-mail address to the world when, at her behest, I attempted to recruit other writers to her fledgling Sacramento Writers Forum. Unfortunately, at least for me, she blasted off when she discovered that I had sent posts to all of my other groups regarding any writer wanting to join her new group.
Well, she has now sent me an e-mail that sounds more like a parent scolding an errant child than an adult speaking to a colleague.
I have resigned from her “group,” and I would not redress anyone who did the same. There is no reason for an adult to address another adult the way she has, and I have found through later research, that Cinamon Vann is so caught up with herself, that she has no tolerance for anyone that does ascend to her lofty throne.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Tuesday - July 21, 2009
It's only Tuesday. Which means we made it through Monday and are praying for Wednesday.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday - July 20, 2009
I got this in the e-mail this morning. I thought it would be a great start for the week.
If you have ever used an electric fence or know someone who has one, you should read this. If you don't laugh hysterically at this, CHECK YOUR PULSE. This is funny... and true. This was sent by a retired dentist.
We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the backyard, and a few months ago, I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To make sure this never happened to me; I got an electric fence and ran a single wire along the top of the fence.
Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for 26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it 7.5 feet into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you have in the ground, the better the fence works.
One day I'm mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel push mower. The hot wire is broken and lying out in the yard. I knew for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.
It seems as though I hadn't remembered to unplug it after all.
Now I'm standing there, I've got the running lawnmower in my right hand and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an upside down cow on fire on the cover.
Time stood still.
The first thing I notice is my pecker trying to climb up the front side of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs & Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was literally at one with the engine.
It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of shit lawnmower was fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.
Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied three different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you're all leaned back and BAM BAM BAM, you just crap your pants three times. It seemed like there were minutes in between but in reality, it was so close together it was like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy.
At this point, I'm about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can't let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences, but Dad always had those pieces of shit chargers made by International, or whoever, that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled. This one I could not let go of.
The 8-foot-long ground rod is now accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom soil. At this point, I'm thinking I'm going to have to just man up and take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.
“Damn!” I think, as I remember I just filled the tank!
Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it.
Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest, I think “Oh God please let the mower die ... Pleeeeaze die.” But nooooo, it settles into the rough, lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI motor waiting for the go command from its owner's right foot.
So here I am, in the middle of July at 104 degrees, 80% humidity, and standing in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that day. He left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the misery my own stupidity had created.
I honestly don't know how I got loose from the wire. I woke up lying on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was besideme, out of gas. It was late in the day and I was sunburned.
There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.
Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep, I realized a few things:
1- Three of my teeth seem to have melted.
2- I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek (not the left, just the right).
3- Poop, pee, and vomit when mixed together, do not smell as bad as you might think.
4- My left eye will not open.
5- My right eye will not close.
6- The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I think our little session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was better than new after that.
7- My nuts are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot long.
8- I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of the number four (still don't understand this?).
That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things. I appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.
The good news is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I can clearly visualize what my security system will do to him, and THAT gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over, which also reminds me to triple check before I mow.
If you have ever used an electric fence or know someone who has one, you should read this. If you don't laugh hysterically at this, CHECK YOUR PULSE. This is funny... and true. This was sent by a retired dentist.
We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the backyard, and a few months ago, I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To make sure this never happened to me; I got an electric fence and ran a single wire along the top of the fence.
Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for 26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it 7.5 feet into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you have in the ground, the better the fence works.
One day I'm mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel push mower. The hot wire is broken and lying out in the yard. I knew for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.
It seems as though I hadn't remembered to unplug it after all.
Now I'm standing there, I've got the running lawnmower in my right hand and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an upside down cow on fire on the cover.
Time stood still.
The first thing I notice is my pecker trying to climb up the front side of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs & Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was literally at one with the engine.
It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of shit lawnmower was fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.
Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied three different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you're all leaned back and BAM BAM BAM, you just crap your pants three times. It seemed like there were minutes in between but in reality, it was so close together it was like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy.
At this point, I'm about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can't let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences, but Dad always had those pieces of shit chargers made by International, or whoever, that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled. This one I could not let go of.
The 8-foot-long ground rod is now accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom soil. At this point, I'm thinking I'm going to have to just man up and take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.
“Damn!” I think, as I remember I just filled the tank!
Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it.
Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest, I think “Oh God please let the mower die ... Pleeeeaze die.” But nooooo, it settles into the rough, lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI motor waiting for the go command from its owner's right foot.
So here I am, in the middle of July at 104 degrees, 80% humidity, and standing in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that day. He left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the misery my own stupidity had created.
I honestly don't know how I got loose from the wire. I woke up lying on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was besideme, out of gas. It was late in the day and I was sunburned.
There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.
Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep, I realized a few things:
1- Three of my teeth seem to have melted.
2- I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek (not the left, just the right).
3- Poop, pee, and vomit when mixed together, do not smell as bad as you might think.
4- My left eye will not open.
5- My right eye will not close.
6- The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I think our little session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was better than new after that.
7- My nuts are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot long.
8- I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of the number four (still don't understand this?).
That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things. I appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.
The good news is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I can clearly visualize what my security system will do to him, and THAT gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over, which also reminds me to triple check before I mow.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Friday - July 17, 2009
I'm reprinting this from an e-mail I received the other day from an old friend from my childhood in Miami, Florida. I left Miami for Vietnam in 1971, and have only returned occasionally for vacations and family funerals. This is the kind of story every American needs to hear.
Michael Jackson dies and it’s 24/7 news coverage. A real American hero dies and not a mention of it in the news.
Ed Freeman
You're a 19-year-old kid. You're critically wounded and dying in the jungle in the Ia Drang Valley , 11-14-1965, LZ X-ray, Vietnam. Your infantry unit is outnumbered 8-1 and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 or 200 yards away, that your own Infantry Commander has ordered the MediVac helicopters to stop coming in.
You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns, and you know you're not getting out. Your family is half way around the world, 12,000 miles away and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day.
Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear that sound of a helicopter and you look up to see an unarmed Huey, but it doesn't seem real because no Medi-Vac markings are on it. Ed Freeman is coming for you.
He's not Medi-Vac, so it's not his job, but he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire, after the Medi-Vacs were ordered not to come. He's coming anyway. And he drops it in and sits there in the machine gun fire as they load 2 or 3 of you on board. Then he flies you up and out, through the gunfire to the doc tors and nurses. And he kept coming back, 13 more times, and took about 30 of you and your buddies out, who would never have gotten out.
Medal of Honor Recipient Ed Freeman died on Wednesday, June 25Th, 2009, at the age of 80, in Boise , ID.
May God rest his soul.
Medal of Honor Winner Ed Freeman! Since the media didn't give him the coverage he deserves, send this to every red-blooded American you know.
THANKS AGAIN, ED, FOR WHAT YOU DID FOR OUR COUNTRY.
Michael Jackson dies and it’s 24/7 news coverage. A real American hero dies and not a mention of it in the news.
Ed Freeman
You're a 19-year-old kid. You're critically wounded and dying in the jungle in the Ia Drang Valley , 11-14-1965, LZ X-ray, Vietnam. Your infantry unit is outnumbered 8-1 and the enemy fire is so intense, from 100 or 200 yards away, that your own Infantry Commander has ordered the MediVac helicopters to stop coming in.
You're lying there, listening to the enemy machine guns, and you know you're not getting out. Your family is half way around the world, 12,000 miles away and you'll never see them again. As the world starts to fade in and out, you know this is the day.
Then, over the machine gun noise, you faintly hear that sound of a helicopter and you look up to see an unarmed Huey, but it doesn't seem real because no Medi-Vac markings are on it. Ed Freeman is coming for you.
He's not Medi-Vac, so it's not his job, but he's flying his Huey down into the machine gun fire, after the Medi-Vacs were ordered not to come. He's coming anyway. And he drops it in and sits there in the machine gun fire as they load 2 or 3 of you on board. Then he flies you up and out, through the gunfire to the doc tors and nurses. And he kept coming back, 13 more times, and took about 30 of you and your buddies out, who would never have gotten out.
Medal of Honor Recipient Ed Freeman died on Wednesday, June 25Th, 2009, at the age of 80, in Boise , ID.
May God rest his soul.
Medal of Honor Winner Ed Freeman! Since the media didn't give him the coverage he deserves, send this to every red-blooded American you know.
THANKS AGAIN, ED, FOR WHAT YOU DID FOR OUR COUNTRY.
MAY YOU REST IN PEACE... FINALLY.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Thursday - July 16, 2009
Every day is a new adventure. The effects of the drugs are gone, but the effects of the withdrawals are ever present. He sweats, he binge eats then doesn't. He has a hair-trigger temper right now, but then there are times when the real Chris comes out. He smiles, he hugs, and he shows how much he really appreciates us.
The trap is set... now we wait out the demons.
The trap is set... now we wait out the demons.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
July 15, 2009
Nobody ever tells you what the withdrawal symptoms from Ecstasy are. This isn't any fun for my son or my family.
Tempers flare. He's very touchy right now. His hands shake and he doesn't want to eat or sleep. His girlfriend, Jasmine, is the best thing for him right now. Her patience and understanding are the rock that he sits on when all else is falling apart around him.
Luck seems to be on our side, because he's working his way through this with great will power and a little kick in the ass from the rest of us.
Tempers flare. He's very touchy right now. His hands shake and he doesn't want to eat or sleep. His girlfriend, Jasmine, is the best thing for him right now. Her patience and understanding are the rock that he sits on when all else is falling apart around him.
Luck seems to be on our side, because he's working his way through this with great will power and a little kick in the ass from the rest of us.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Monday - July 13, 2009
The weekend was a mess. Maybe this week will bring a fresh and more livable view of the world for me.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
My Son is a Drug Addict
He woke up this morning, finally, but he can’t remember much of the night before. He can’t remember the shouting match with his mother, telling her to “F” off and that he’ll do drugs as long as he wants too. Or the fight with his girl friend that ended with him passing out on the couch.
His name is Christopher, he’s my seventeen-year-old son, and he’s a drug addict. No, he’s not the kind of addict depicted in the movies or on television. He doesn’t sleep in alleys and creep around trying to find his next “fix.” He’s not disheveled or unwashed, though the clothes kids wear today kind of express that. No, he’s a middleclass kid from the suburbs that got off the road somewhere and can’t find his way back.
Ecstasy, “E,” “smackers,” “fizz.” It doesn’t matter what you call it, he takes it and he can’t, and won’t stop. His mother and I sit for hours trying to figure out where we went wrong, and you know, we’ve come to a conclusion that may not set well with others: we haven’t done anything wrong.
We put him through school and made him study, but the drugs took over and he quit going to school.
We taught him the difference between right and wrong, but the drugs took over and the difference to him became muddled and cloudy.
We taught him that it’s not the money or the fame, but hard work and diligence that equal success, but the drugs took over, and he no longer even wants to look for a job or accept work from anyone.
We taught him respect for others, but the drugs took over, now his hair-trigger temper kicks in and he lashes out at everyone with such anger, and distain that we fear he’ll hurt someone one night in a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, we taught him love, and not by merely saying it to him. We expressed it to him every day by example and by our actions with him. But again, the drugs take over and he yells at me in the front yard that he hates me and wishes I were dead.
No, we did everything we could to ensure that he became a good man and a positive contributor to society… but the drugs took over. We can no longer control him because his defiance is to such a point that he won’t obey anyone.
Now we’re trapped between our love for him and the knowledge that if we do nothing, he’ll eventually hit bottom, or worse.
So, there you have it. Where do we go from here? I don’t know, but we’re not going to sit still. Would an intervention work? I don’t know, but we’re going to try it. Would a stint in re-hab work? I don’t know, but if it comes down to it, we’ll try it.
I won’t be writing my articles or working on any literary projects until this crisis with Christopher is over. I’ll miss it, but not as much as I would miss my son if he were to die, and I didn’t commit everything I had to preventing that.
His name is Christopher, he’s my seventeen-year-old son, and he’s a drug addict. No, he’s not the kind of addict depicted in the movies or on television. He doesn’t sleep in alleys and creep around trying to find his next “fix.” He’s not disheveled or unwashed, though the clothes kids wear today kind of express that. No, he’s a middleclass kid from the suburbs that got off the road somewhere and can’t find his way back.
Ecstasy, “E,” “smackers,” “fizz.” It doesn’t matter what you call it, he takes it and he can’t, and won’t stop. His mother and I sit for hours trying to figure out where we went wrong, and you know, we’ve come to a conclusion that may not set well with others: we haven’t done anything wrong.
We put him through school and made him study, but the drugs took over and he quit going to school.
We taught him the difference between right and wrong, but the drugs took over and the difference to him became muddled and cloudy.
We taught him that it’s not the money or the fame, but hard work and diligence that equal success, but the drugs took over, and he no longer even wants to look for a job or accept work from anyone.
We taught him respect for others, but the drugs took over, now his hair-trigger temper kicks in and he lashes out at everyone with such anger, and distain that we fear he’ll hurt someone one night in a drug-induced stupor.
Finally, we taught him love, and not by merely saying it to him. We expressed it to him every day by example and by our actions with him. But again, the drugs take over and he yells at me in the front yard that he hates me and wishes I were dead.
No, we did everything we could to ensure that he became a good man and a positive contributor to society… but the drugs took over. We can no longer control him because his defiance is to such a point that he won’t obey anyone.
Now we’re trapped between our love for him and the knowledge that if we do nothing, he’ll eventually hit bottom, or worse.
So, there you have it. Where do we go from here? I don’t know, but we’re not going to sit still. Would an intervention work? I don’t know, but we’re going to try it. Would a stint in re-hab work? I don’t know, but if it comes down to it, we’ll try it.
I won’t be writing my articles or working on any literary projects until this crisis with Christopher is over. I’ll miss it, but not as much as I would miss my son if he were to die, and I didn’t commit everything I had to preventing that.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Friday - July 10, 2009
FRIDAY... Yipeeeee. The eve of the weekend, the doorway to rest and relaxation, and the day of the week that my Wife, Joyce, is furloughed from her State of California job.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wednesday - July 8, 2009
And you thought it would never get here. It's Wednesday and the rest of the week should be smooth sailing from here.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Tuesday - July 7, 2009
Does anyone feel the same about Tuesday that I do? A useless day, only a small link to Wednesday.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Saturday - July 4, 2009
Happy Fourth of July everyone. Independence Day. Not barbecue day... Independence Day. The day we became a country of our own.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Friday - July 3, 2009
It's Friday, and the day before one of the greatest holidays we have, independence day. Remember the vets.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Wednesday - July 1, 2009
Wow. Time sure flies when you're not paying attention. It's already Wednesday. Counting down to Independence Day.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday - June 30, 2009
It's been several days since I've been able to write. Several personal issues have raised their ugly heads and I had to take care of them first. But, I'm back, and we'll begin again.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Wednesday - June 24, 2009
You see? I told you we would make it to Wednesday. Now, just hold out for three more days and it's weekend fun for all.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tuesday - June 23, 2009
Okay. It's only Tuesday. Just relax and we can get through this. If we can just make it to Wednesday, we'll be safe.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday - June 22, 2009
Monday. The dreaded first day of the workweek. The beginning of the long stretch to the weekend.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Thursday - JUne 18, 2009
Okay people. Let's buck up. There's only one more day until the weekend... we can make it... just hang on, we can make it.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
June 17, 2009
Teenagers: What have we done to deserve this?
Is it just me, or are the teenagers today scarier than when we were fifteen? I seem to remember “please,” “thank you,” and respect for others to be a requirement when I was growing up. Today, teenagers seem to be able to talk to their parents with a level of disrespect that shouldn’t be cast on a dog.
I remember growing up, and my parents were horrified by my music, my clothes, and everything else I felt was the expression of “me.” But there was never a time when (outside of my vivid imagination) I disrespected them, at least not publically.
I’ve studied this sociological phenomenon and have come to what I feel is the only viable conclusion; it’s our own fault.
Who else can we blame for this? We’re the ones who allow them to run the streets without knowing where they are or when they’re going to be home. We’re the ones who didn’t give them the necessary guidance and discipline that our parents (at least the ones I grew up with) gave to us.
And we are the ones who, for whatever reason, can’t find the nerve to say “it’s my T.V. and I’ll tell you when and what you’re going to watch.”
Our lives have become so centered on our careers that we’ve neglected to teach the very values we desire our teenagers to adhere to.
I have a teenager. He’s the average sixteen-year-old going on thirty. Like all parents, I’m at a loss to explain where he got the vast knowledge of a lifetime in just sixteen years. He seems to know everything there is to know about everything there is to know. It’s amazing to me. I haven’t got that much knowledge or life experience and I’m in my fifties.
So where do we go from here? The “it’s too late” syndrome I keep hearing from other parents doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it’s too late. I think that if we snatch them back to reality and strap them down for a while, we might be able to repair some of the damage done by our past failure to be the parents.
First, we need to tell them who’s in charge. Now I’m sure some of you are now imagining your kid going berserk because you had the unmitigated gall to think you could actually control them. But, you have to get past that and be firm.
They need to know that we, the parents, are the ones who set the limits. Of course, if you set the limits too far in the teenager’s favor, then whatever happens is your own doing.
If they’re twelve years old, they need to be in the house by dark and, unless you live in Alaska, that’s about six o’clock. If they’re ten years old, they have no business going to a Metal, Grunge, or other concert with three of their friends who are the same age.
Second, when your teenager is talking to you like you’re dirt on their shoes, it’s always a good idea to remind them who bought the shoes. Unless your teen has a good job, pretty much all of their clothes, shoes, toys, computers, I-pods and assorted other out-of-pocket expenses they enjoy comes out of your pocket — not theirs. So, when they decide that they’re old enough to talk to you like an adult, remind them that they can get a job to replace all of the things that you just took from their room. (It’s only their room because YOU let them sleep there).
Third, you cannot possibly hope to win the battle by restricting them to wearing what they want only at home. But you can tell them that if they want to go out in public they will dress at least to a point where they don’t look like they’ve just been mugged. That doesn’t mean they have to give up the torn jeans, the Nirvana T-shirt with three holes in the back, or the tennis shoes that are held together by whatever. It just means that a bath and a good laundry are better than the alternative, right?
Finally, there are no greater teachers than experience and example. They should experience being fired from a job because they were too busy texting their friend to concentrate on the task at hand. They should experience rejection because they have green hair, black makeup, black fingernails — and they’re a boy. But better than that, they’ll get their greatest lessons from you.
If you drink at home in front of them with no concern for their image of you, don’t be horrified that they come home drunk as a skunk from the party they told you was a study session. If you do drugs at home in front of them with the idea that you’re an adult, they’re the kids, and they should do what you say — not what you do, don’t be surprised or shocked that they’re doing drugs. And, if you disrespect everyone, if you’re a bigot and racist, they’ll be just like you. Think about it.
Is it just me, or are the teenagers today scarier than when we were fifteen? I seem to remember “please,” “thank you,” and respect for others to be a requirement when I was growing up. Today, teenagers seem to be able to talk to their parents with a level of disrespect that shouldn’t be cast on a dog.
I remember growing up, and my parents were horrified by my music, my clothes, and everything else I felt was the expression of “me.” But there was never a time when (outside of my vivid imagination) I disrespected them, at least not publically.
I’ve studied this sociological phenomenon and have come to what I feel is the only viable conclusion; it’s our own fault.
Who else can we blame for this? We’re the ones who allow them to run the streets without knowing where they are or when they’re going to be home. We’re the ones who didn’t give them the necessary guidance and discipline that our parents (at least the ones I grew up with) gave to us.
And we are the ones who, for whatever reason, can’t find the nerve to say “it’s my T.V. and I’ll tell you when and what you’re going to watch.”
Our lives have become so centered on our careers that we’ve neglected to teach the very values we desire our teenagers to adhere to.
I have a teenager. He’s the average sixteen-year-old going on thirty. Like all parents, I’m at a loss to explain where he got the vast knowledge of a lifetime in just sixteen years. He seems to know everything there is to know about everything there is to know. It’s amazing to me. I haven’t got that much knowledge or life experience and I’m in my fifties.
So where do we go from here? The “it’s too late” syndrome I keep hearing from other parents doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it’s too late. I think that if we snatch them back to reality and strap them down for a while, we might be able to repair some of the damage done by our past failure to be the parents.
First, we need to tell them who’s in charge. Now I’m sure some of you are now imagining your kid going berserk because you had the unmitigated gall to think you could actually control them. But, you have to get past that and be firm.
They need to know that we, the parents, are the ones who set the limits. Of course, if you set the limits too far in the teenager’s favor, then whatever happens is your own doing.
If they’re twelve years old, they need to be in the house by dark and, unless you live in Alaska, that’s about six o’clock. If they’re ten years old, they have no business going to a Metal, Grunge, or other concert with three of their friends who are the same age.
Second, when your teenager is talking to you like you’re dirt on their shoes, it’s always a good idea to remind them who bought the shoes. Unless your teen has a good job, pretty much all of their clothes, shoes, toys, computers, I-pods and assorted other out-of-pocket expenses they enjoy comes out of your pocket — not theirs. So, when they decide that they’re old enough to talk to you like an adult, remind them that they can get a job to replace all of the things that you just took from their room. (It’s only their room because YOU let them sleep there).
Third, you cannot possibly hope to win the battle by restricting them to wearing what they want only at home. But you can tell them that if they want to go out in public they will dress at least to a point where they don’t look like they’ve just been mugged. That doesn’t mean they have to give up the torn jeans, the Nirvana T-shirt with three holes in the back, or the tennis shoes that are held together by whatever. It just means that a bath and a good laundry are better than the alternative, right?
Finally, there are no greater teachers than experience and example. They should experience being fired from a job because they were too busy texting their friend to concentrate on the task at hand. They should experience rejection because they have green hair, black makeup, black fingernails — and they’re a boy. But better than that, they’ll get their greatest lessons from you.
If you drink at home in front of them with no concern for their image of you, don’t be horrified that they come home drunk as a skunk from the party they told you was a study session. If you do drugs at home in front of them with the idea that you’re an adult, they’re the kids, and they should do what you say — not what you do, don’t be surprised or shocked that they’re doing drugs. And, if you disrespect everyone, if you’re a bigot and racist, they’ll be just like you. Think about it.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Tuesday - June 16, 2009
Wow. I've been so busy that I forgot to post Friday and Monday. I gotta get a life. Anyway, busy busy busy. Good Tuesday to all.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Thursday - June 11, 2009
Here's a little tidbit I got in my e-mail this morning. I think it's perfect.
The window through which we look
A young couple moved into a new neighborhood. The next morning while they were eating breakfast, the young woman saw her neighbor hanging the wash outside.
"That laundry is not very clean," she said. "She doesn't know how to wash correctly. Perhaps she needs better laundry soap."
Her husband looked on, but remained silent.
Every time her neighbor would hang her wash to dry, the young woman would make the same comments.
About one month later, the woman was surprised to see a nice clean wash on the line and said to her husband, "Look, she has learned how to wash correctly. I wonder who taught her this."
The husband said, "I got up early this morning and cleaned our windows."
And so it is with life. What we see when watching others depends on the purity of the window through which we look.
Very cool message, I think...
The window through which we look
A young couple moved into a new neighborhood. The next morning while they were eating breakfast, the young woman saw her neighbor hanging the wash outside.
"That laundry is not very clean," she said. "She doesn't know how to wash correctly. Perhaps she needs better laundry soap."
Her husband looked on, but remained silent.
Every time her neighbor would hang her wash to dry, the young woman would make the same comments.
About one month later, the woman was surprised to see a nice clean wash on the line and said to her husband, "Look, she has learned how to wash correctly. I wonder who taught her this."
The husband said, "I got up early this morning and cleaned our windows."
And so it is with life. What we see when watching others depends on the purity of the window through which we look.
Very cool message, I think...
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Wednesday - June 10, 2009
Ahhhhh. It's Wednesday. The middle of the week. Halfway to the sanctuary of the weekend. Midway to the rest and relaxation of not having to toil at our regular jobs, only to work twice as hard at the chores we have neglected during the week.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Tuesday - June 9, 2009
Tuesday is kind of a drag day. It's not Monday, thank God, but it's not Wednesday, which would mean the week was half over. It's just kind of there.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Friday - June 5, 2009
Here it is again. Friday. The end of the working week and the portal to the weekend.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Wednesday - June 3, 2009
Ahhh. Wednesday. It's mid-week and I've finished my article for the Sac Press, I'm done with the extra writing I had to do, and my golf clubs are cleaned and bright. Guess where I'm going this afternoon.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Tuesday - June 2, 2009
Do wishes really come true? I don't know, but a producer has contacted me about a book-to-movie project with my novel, "The Measure of a Man." I've checked his credentials and he's legit.
Now, if they buy off on the project, then I will believe that dreams can come true.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Now, if they buy off on the project, then I will believe that dreams can come true.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Monday, June 1, 2009
Monday - June 1, 2009
We’ve made it to another Monday, which means you have survived another weekend.
I start a workout regimen today. I’m 55 and I guess it’s time to get into shape. Of course, my doctor was instrumental in getting me into a gym, since I’m expanding in areas that weren’t there before.
Anyway. Time to get to it. Good Monday to all.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
I start a workout regimen today. I’m 55 and I guess it’s time to get into shape. Of course, my doctor was instrumental in getting me into a gym, since I’m expanding in areas that weren’t there before.
Anyway. Time to get to it. Good Monday to all.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Friday, May 29, 2009
It's Friday again.
It's amazing. After my completely self-serving, childish, whining titty-baby venting Wednesday, the editors at the Sacramento Press have accepted my proposed storyline "West Sac Beat" and I've posted my first three articles about the comings and goings of West Sacramento, Ca.
The articles are on the front page at http://www.sacramentopress.com/. Please give it a read. Even if you're not from the Sacramento area, it makes for good reading anyway.
I couldn't be happier... well, I could, but that's another story.
It's amazing. After my completely self-serving, childish, whining titty-baby venting Wednesday, the editors at the Sacramento Press have accepted my proposed storyline "West Sac Beat" and I've posted my first three articles about the comings and goings of West Sacramento, Ca.
The articles are on the front page at http://www.sacramentopress.com/. Please give it a read. Even if you're not from the Sacramento area, it makes for good reading anyway.
I couldn't be happier... well, I could, but that's another story.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thursday _ May 28, 2009
Well... I guess I really vented yesterday regarding the Sacramento Press. They apologized for pulling my article and have made arrangements to talk to me beforehand, rather than after the article is already up and running.
So... all is well again in the world. Let's party.
So... all is well again in the world. Let's party.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
I Won't Stay Where I'm Not Wanted
The Sacramento Press, an on-line news source that I've been writing for for some time now, and more specifically Ben Ilfeld, the "Operations Manager" [ben@sacramentopress.com], has decided, for whatever reason, to remove articles written by persons who have been avid contributors to the Sac Press for some time. Particularly mine.
With this action, he and the editorial board has made an outsider of at least myself, and hopefully others who feel that our contributions to his press site, no matter how trivial and non-local-newsworthy they may be in his eyes, were our contributions to the advancement of what I thought was a good idea: internet news for Sacramento.
How does a story about a scam perpetrated through e-mails and aimed at certainly more than just myself here in the Sacramento area not qualify as local news? Does the fact that it didn't happen to old Ben mean that it isn't newsworthy for Sacramento?
Nonetheless, I have no desire to write articles for the Sacramento Press any longer. I feel betrayed and "kicked-to-the-curb" by Ben Ilfeld and I won't hang around where I'm obviously not wanted.
It's been real, it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun thanks to you Ben.
Goodbye.
With this action, he and the editorial board has made an outsider of at least myself, and hopefully others who feel that our contributions to his press site, no matter how trivial and non-local-newsworthy they may be in his eyes, were our contributions to the advancement of what I thought was a good idea: internet news for Sacramento.
How does a story about a scam perpetrated through e-mails and aimed at certainly more than just myself here in the Sacramento area not qualify as local news? Does the fact that it didn't happen to old Ben mean that it isn't newsworthy for Sacramento?
Nonetheless, I have no desire to write articles for the Sacramento Press any longer. I feel betrayed and "kicked-to-the-curb" by Ben Ilfeld and I won't hang around where I'm obviously not wanted.
It's been real, it's been fun, but it hasn't been real fun thanks to you Ben.
Goodbye.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Tuesday - May 26, 2009
Hope everyone had a great Memorial Day. I'm a vet, and I know I had a good time relaxing. www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Monday, May 25, 2009
Bweare the Soldier Baring Gifts
I’m sure everyone has heard of at least one of the many variants of a Nigerian e-mail scam. Generally, it goes like this; a ranking official of Nigeria, or Sierra Leon, or Lagos, has come across millions in U.S. Dollars. He wants to share the money with you if you’ll just help him get it out of their country and into ours. The catch is that if you agree, they now need a few hundred dollars from you to bribe an official into releasing the funds. Of course, if you send the money, they disappear.
Well, the one I got today has a new twist, and as a veteran, and given the meaning of today, I thought it was particularly unsavory.
This, of course, is all a front to extort money. Money that many of us cannot afford to lose in today’s trying economic times.
One can only speculate how dastardly these scammers are, but to use a day like today -- Memorial Day -- to take advantage of an American who may believe this come-on and, feeling a twinge of patriotism mixed with a little greed, fall for it and get bitten bad.
On the one hand, many of us will believe that if one is stupid enough to fall for it, then they deserve what they get. But, on the other hand, if they can’t see the fallacy, then maybe we, as responsible American citizens, should reach out to them and open their eyes. Hence, this editorial.
Hopefully, this article will dissuade someone, and possibly save their rent money.
Well, the one I got today has a new twist, and as a veteran, and given the meaning of today, I thought it was particularly unsavory.
Important message from an American soldier in Iraq
Good
day,
My name is Sgt. Eric Richardson Frawley, I am an American
soldier, and I am serving in the military of the 1st Armored Division in Iraq,
as you know we are being attacked by insurgents everyday and car bombs. We
managed to move funds belonging to Saddam Hussein's family in 2003. The
total amount is US$25 Million dollars in cash, mostly 100 dollar bills, this
money has been kept somewhere outside Baghdad for sometime but with the proposed
troop reduction by president Obama, we are afraid that the money will be
discovered hence we want to move this money to you for safe keeping pending the
completion of our assignment here. You can go to this web link to read
about events that took place then via this site:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/2988455.stm
We are ready to compensate
you with good percentage of the funds, No strings attached, just for you to help
us move it out of Iraq. Iraq is a war zone, so we plan on using diplomatic
means in shipping the money out as military cargo using diplomatic
immunity. If you are interested I will send you the full details, my job
is to find a good partner that we can trust and that will assist us. Can I
trust you? When you receive this letter, kindly send an e-mail to sgt.ericrichard3@hotmail.com
signifying your interest including your most confidential telephone numbers for
quick communication also your contact details.
This is risk
free.
With regards from,
Sgt. Eric Richardson
Frawley
This, of course, is all a front to extort money. Money that many of us cannot afford to lose in today’s trying economic times.
One can only speculate how dastardly these scammers are, but to use a day like today -- Memorial Day -- to take advantage of an American who may believe this come-on and, feeling a twinge of patriotism mixed with a little greed, fall for it and get bitten bad.
On the one hand, many of us will believe that if one is stupid enough to fall for it, then they deserve what they get. But, on the other hand, if they can’t see the fallacy, then maybe we, as responsible American citizens, should reach out to them and open their eyes. Hence, this editorial.
Hopefully, this article will dissuade someone, and possibly save their rent money.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Friday - May 22, 2009
Hey Hey Hey... It's Friday. My Wife is home today and we're going to go out an get some errands done. Love Fridays.
I have been offered a ghost writing assignment from an old high school friend. Sounds like a good gig so I took it. Hope everything works out.
I have been offered a ghost writing assignment from an old high school friend. Sounds like a good gig so I took it. Hope everything works out.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Wednesday - May 20, 2009
It's Wednesday and we're still here. Damn... I wanted to be in the Bahamas. www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Equality
I want to touch a little bit on equality. Yes, I know the subject has been beaten to death in every publication and news program across the country, but I feel it needs to be hit just one more time.
Webster defines equality as “State of being equal: rights, treatment, quantity, or value equal to all others in a specific group; full equality under the law.”
Now that’s a reasonable definition. To be equal. To be treated equally. To enjoy full equality under the law. But are we? Are we, even today, applying the law and rights equally to all?
I say no, and here are some reasons why.
I attended a craft fair the other day and a company who provides gyms and workouts for women were there. I asked the representative about membership. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was for “women only.”
What do you think would happen if I opened a gym for men only? Publically limited the membership to men and specifically restricted women from joining. I truly believe that before the grand opening, I would be sued in multiple federal courts for denying someone their equal rights. And rightfully so.
Realistically, I have no desire to join a women’s only gym, and my initial inquiry was for my wife, who was interested in some brochures regarding their programs. But, the immediate presumption of the representative that I should be on notice that men aren’t allowed is curious to say the least.
I am and always shall be a true believer in equal rights for all. There should be no limitations for anyone from doing anything that anyone else can or wants to do.
But can we?
Equality
I want to touch a little bit on equality. Yes, I know the subject has been beaten to death in every publication and news program across the country, but I feel it needs to be hit just one more time.
Webster defines equality as “State of being equal: rights, treatment, quantity, or value equal to all others in a specific group; full equality under the law.”
Now that’s a reasonable definition. To be equal. To be treated equally. To enjoy full equality under the law. But are we? Are we, even today, applying the law and rights equally to all?
I say no, and here are some reasons why.
I attended a craft fair the other day and a company who provides gyms and workouts for women were there. I asked the representative about membership. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was for “women only.”
What do you think would happen if I opened a gym for men only? Publically limited the membership to men and specifically restricted women from joining. I truly believe that before the grand opening, I would be sued in multiple federal courts for denying someone their equal rights. And rightfully so.
Realistically, I have no desire to join a women’s only gym, and my initial inquiry was for my wife, who was interested in some brochures regarding their programs. But, the immediate presumption of the representative that I should be on notice that men aren’t allowed is curious to say the least.
I am and always shall be a true believer in equal rights for all. There should be no limitations for anyone from doing anything that anyone else can or wants to do.
But can we?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Tuesday - May 19, 2009
It's Tuesday. That's right, I missed Monday. For some reason I just didn't have the energy to get up and do anything yesterday.
But book sales at the book signing last weekend were great. Better than all of the past signings combined. So that was a bright spot on an otherwise dull weekend.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
But book sales at the book signing last weekend were great. Better than all of the past signings combined. So that was a bright spot on an otherwise dull weekend.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday - May 15, 2009
Well, I made it to another Friday, the gateway to the weekend.
Somehow I have wrecked my back and it's difficult to get around right now. But I have a book signing this weekend and I have to be there, so I guess I'll self-medicate and do what I have to do.
It won't be too bad with a hand full of Relifin.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Somehow I have wrecked my back and it's difficult to get around right now. But I have a book signing this weekend and I have to be there, so I guess I'll self-medicate and do what I have to do.
It won't be too bad with a hand full of Relifin.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Thursday - May 14, 2009
Lots of work to do for the book signing Saturday. Anyone in the Sacramanto area, come on down.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Turn Signals – What a Great Invention
I can’t count how many times I’ve been driving down the freeway or some surface street and one of you buttheads decide to change lanes or turn and doesn’t use the turn signal. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the little handle on the steering column. You use it to let the other guys on the road with you know that for whatever reason you’ve decided to change lanes or turn.
You have to understand that when you cut us off, you send our imaginations whirling around the possibility of mounting a 50 caliber machine gun to the front of our car and pumping the first belt of ammo up your tail pipe.
In an effort to save the life of you buttheads who forgot what to do when you decide to change lanes, I offer the following insight… try to follow along if you can.
Most state vehicle codes require the use of the turn indicator to signal other drivers of your intentions to change lanes or turn from one street to another.
Now I can understand that there are times when you have to move from lane to lane. And I know that there are a lot of very complicated things on the dash and the steering column that may confuse you… but when the traffic is going seventy-plus miles per hour and you decide to move from lane-one to lane-two, common sense tells you it really is a good idea to let the other guy know what you’re going to do, after all, if your car is 2,000 lbs, and my truck is 3,000 lbs, and you decide to move without letting me know what you’re doing, it’s conceivable that my truck is going to crush your car.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Turn Signals – What a Great Invention
I can’t count how many times I’ve been driving down the freeway or some surface street and one of you buttheads decide to change lanes or turn and doesn’t use the turn signal. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the little handle on the steering column. You use it to let the other guys on the road with you know that for whatever reason you’ve decided to change lanes or turn.
You have to understand that when you cut us off, you send our imaginations whirling around the possibility of mounting a 50 caliber machine gun to the front of our car and pumping the first belt of ammo up your tail pipe.
In an effort to save the life of you buttheads who forgot what to do when you decide to change lanes, I offer the following insight… try to follow along if you can.
Most state vehicle codes require the use of the turn indicator to signal other drivers of your intentions to change lanes or turn from one street to another.
Now I can understand that there are times when you have to move from lane to lane. And I know that there are a lot of very complicated things on the dash and the steering column that may confuse you… but when the traffic is going seventy-plus miles per hour and you decide to move from lane-one to lane-two, common sense tells you it really is a good idea to let the other guy know what you’re going to do, after all, if your car is 2,000 lbs, and my truck is 3,000 lbs, and you decide to move without letting me know what you’re doing, it’s conceivable that my truck is going to crush your car.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tuesday - May 12, 2009
It’s Tuesday. Tuesday is such a drag. It’s not the middle of the week; it’s not the beginning of the week. It’s just Tuesday. www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday - May 8, 2009
It's Friday, and the weather looks great here is Sacramento. Got a ton of errands to get done today, so I better to it.
Anyone interested in my book The Measure of a Man just go to www.amazon.com, or www.fdcrandallwriter.com and get your copy today.
Anyone interested in my book The Measure of a Man just go to www.amazon.com, or www.fdcrandallwriter.com and get your copy today.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Great Meeting Last Night
Last night I attended a gathering sponsored by the group "Writers Who Wine" here in Sacramento. It was fantastic, though I did imbibe a bit too much of the house White Zinfandel.
I made many great connections, not the least of which is a member who will hopefully "share" her literary agent with me. Another is going to read my book and give me an honest critique (Scary) and another is asking me questions regarding his new project.
All in all, it was a wonderful evening, well worth the $60.00 and the ass chewing from my wife, who didn’t attend, which is why I spent $60.00 on wine and got my ass chewed. I have a feeling that next time she’s coming with me.
I made many great connections, not the least of which is a member who will hopefully "share" her literary agent with me. Another is going to read my book and give me an honest critique (Scary) and another is asking me questions regarding his new project.
All in all, it was a wonderful evening, well worth the $60.00 and the ass chewing from my wife, who didn’t attend, which is why I spent $60.00 on wine and got my ass chewed. I have a feeling that next time she’s coming with me.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Wednesday - May 6, 2009
Happy Wednesday. No success in scheduling another book signing yet. It seems there are people who just don't like the concept of an author actually charging the public for their books.
But... we shall persevere.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
But... we shall persevere.
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A GOOD THOUGHT
Here is another wonderful and insightful piece of humor from a great man who just passed.
George Carlin (Absolutely Brilliant)
IF YOU DON'T READ THIS TO THE VERY END, YOU HAVE LOST A DAY IN YOUR LIFE.
George Carlin's Views on Aging
Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.
"How old are you?” "I'm four and a half!” You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key
You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.
"How old are you?” "I'm gonna be 16!” You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life. You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!
But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?
You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.
But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!
So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.
You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!
You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90's, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92."
Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!
HOW TO STAY YOUNG
1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight, and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them."
2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop.” And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
4. Enjoy the simple things.
5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, and hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
George Carlin (Absolutely Brilliant)
IF YOU DON'T READ THIS TO THE VERY END, YOU HAVE LOST A DAY IN YOUR LIFE.
George Carlin's Views on Aging
Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.
"How old are you?” "I'm four and a half!” You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key
You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.
"How old are you?” "I'm gonna be 16!” You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life. You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony. YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!
But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?
You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.
But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!
So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.
You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!
You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90's, you start going backwards; "I Was JUST 92."
Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. "I'm 100 and a half!"
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!
HOW TO STAY YOUNG
1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight, and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay "them."
2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.
3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop.” And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.
4. Enjoy the simple things.
5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.
6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.
7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, and hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.
8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.
9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.
10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
This is Great
Just the other day someone sent this link to me in my regular e-mail joke circle. I thought it was just another joke, until I played it. I'm not ashamed to say that a tear came to my eyes as this played out.
http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2539741
http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2539741
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Tuesday - April 28, 2009
Good morning to all. Hope you had as good a night's sleep as I did. I will be working on setting up the book signing on Saturday, and running some errands. Weather is good and it's a great day to be alive.
If you need something to read, I suggest “The Measure of a Man” at www.amazon.com under F.D. Crandall as the author.
Anyway, it's time to get moving so I can get some or my chores done.
If you need something to read, I suggest “The Measure of a Man” at www.amazon.com under F.D. Crandall as the author.
Anyway, it's time to get moving so I can get some or my chores done.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Hey... I know it's been a while since my last blog post, but I've been both busy with the book promotions and sicker than a dog. No... a dog shouldn't be this sick.
Anyway, to update this, I had a book signing last Saturday at the Starbucks in Town Center Plaza, West Sacramento, Ca. It was great. Not a lot of sales but a lot of contacts, and it feels real good to have people come up to you and want to shake your hand because you're an author.
I have some other projects in the wings and I'm eager to get started on them. So... until next time, thanks for reading and BUY MY BOOK... Please?
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Anyway, to update this, I had a book signing last Saturday at the Starbucks in Town Center Plaza, West Sacramento, Ca. It was great. Not a lot of sales but a lot of contacts, and it feels real good to have people come up to you and want to shake your hand because you're an author.
I have some other projects in the wings and I'm eager to get started on them. So... until next time, thanks for reading and BUY MY BOOK... Please?
www.fdcrandallwriter.com
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
WEDNESDAY
Another day in the life of an author who's trying desperately to market his new book to the world. This is not as easy as I had originally thought. I have to do all of the promotions, marketing, and appearances (of course).
Well, I'm up to the challenge. I'm waiting for the next shipment of books and have to schedule out some book signings here in the Sacramento region.
I'll keep the schedule up to date for all two of you readers out there (My wife and son).
Well, I'm up to the challenge. I'm waiting for the next shipment of books and have to schedule out some book signings here in the Sacramento region.
I'll keep the schedule up to date for all two of you readers out there (My wife and son).
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
It's Friday. Book Sales are Down
Well, it's Friday, April 3, 2009, and the sales for "The Measure of a Man" are down. I guess I have to get out there and push it more.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
It's Thursday, and I'm busy getting the promotions and the and the book signing scheduled. Hope everyone is doing well.
Today, I want to add a story I did for the Sacramento Press on the homeless. It's short article and I think you all might enjoy it.
Raymond…
He sleeps in alleys, under bridges, in doorways and open fields. He wakes infested with slugs, leeches, or ants, or any number of local insect. His name is Raymond, and he’s homeless.
The circumstances that lead to his current situation are not relevant. The lack of compassion or understanding of us as a community is.
He says that he can’t work because he suffers from chronic, untreated schizophrenia, but the medication he needs to control it is not available to him because he can’t keep a job and get medical insurance. He’s scared to death of the county mental health facility, so he suffers. He lives as he can, eats whatever he can find or beg for, and tries to leave everyone else alone.
Just last month, he was attacked at a homeless camp and robbed of the precious few items he could call his own, a plastic bag of toiletries, and his notebook. He suffered a bruised rib and contusions on his face and back. But he survived. He has since managed to replace the toilet items, but the notebook was never found. It was his catharsis, his way to record the small things he could manage to cope with and remember from day to day. The telephone numbers of the few people he could call when his life got too hard to handle, and pictures of his family, long since behind him.
Raymond has been homeless for seventeen years now. He has been in and out of mental health facilitates and jails from Seattle to San Diego. Each time he is incarcerated, he is treated for the psychological problems he has lived with all his adult life. But when he is released, he is forgotten, the pharmaceutical treatments are stopped suddenly, leaving him to cope with the debilitating withdrawals and to return to his dismal, paranoid existence.
He once was a well man. He once had a family, but he can’t remember most of them. He once had a job, but when the illness set in, his employers let him go.
I have heard more than a few people say that they sympathize with the homeless, but they don’t want them housed near them. They say they identify with the hungry, but they don’t want to help feed them. They have compassion for the children with little clothing, but they won’t cloth them.
The circumstance surrounding the plight of the homeless is not relevant to society’s responsibility to care for them. Not just the City, county or State governments, but the community as a whole.I’m not advocating we house homeless families in our homes. But when there are a myriad of vacant and seasonally used buildings that could house them at least for a time to keep them from the elements, I say open those doors.
Let me know what you readers think.
F.D.
Today, I want to add a story I did for the Sacramento Press on the homeless. It's short article and I think you all might enjoy it.
Raymond…
He sleeps in alleys, under bridges, in doorways and open fields. He wakes infested with slugs, leeches, or ants, or any number of local insect. His name is Raymond, and he’s homeless.
The circumstances that lead to his current situation are not relevant. The lack of compassion or understanding of us as a community is.
He says that he can’t work because he suffers from chronic, untreated schizophrenia, but the medication he needs to control it is not available to him because he can’t keep a job and get medical insurance. He’s scared to death of the county mental health facility, so he suffers. He lives as he can, eats whatever he can find or beg for, and tries to leave everyone else alone.
Just last month, he was attacked at a homeless camp and robbed of the precious few items he could call his own, a plastic bag of toiletries, and his notebook. He suffered a bruised rib and contusions on his face and back. But he survived. He has since managed to replace the toilet items, but the notebook was never found. It was his catharsis, his way to record the small things he could manage to cope with and remember from day to day. The telephone numbers of the few people he could call when his life got too hard to handle, and pictures of his family, long since behind him.
Raymond has been homeless for seventeen years now. He has been in and out of mental health facilitates and jails from Seattle to San Diego. Each time he is incarcerated, he is treated for the psychological problems he has lived with all his adult life. But when he is released, he is forgotten, the pharmaceutical treatments are stopped suddenly, leaving him to cope with the debilitating withdrawals and to return to his dismal, paranoid existence.
He once was a well man. He once had a family, but he can’t remember most of them. He once had a job, but when the illness set in, his employers let him go.
I have heard more than a few people say that they sympathize with the homeless, but they don’t want them housed near them. They say they identify with the hungry, but they don’t want to help feed them. They have compassion for the children with little clothing, but they won’t cloth them.
The circumstance surrounding the plight of the homeless is not relevant to society’s responsibility to care for them. Not just the City, county or State governments, but the community as a whole.I’m not advocating we house homeless families in our homes. But when there are a myriad of vacant and seasonally used buildings that could house them at least for a time to keep them from the elements, I say open those doors.
Let me know what you readers think.
F.D.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Hello everyone. I'm the author of "The Measure of a Man" now out in Amazon.com, Borders.com, and Barnes&Noble.com.
Just input F.D. Crandall in the search box under books, or the ISBN 9781438958217.
I want all of you to enjoy the book. If you're local, I will sign the book for you.
I will post everyday to this site and write other things as well. Let's Blog together.
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