Where's Daniel or Joseph?

• I don't usually have the really odd dreams that other people sometimes describe to me, but at times, they can be a bit weird.  
• Last night, I had several strange sequences:
• In one, my undersized bed was levitated and carried, eastbound, over a small shallow lake, lined by pine trees. At an altitude of a couple thousand feet, I could make out some whitecaps, and several places where the lake bed came up above the water.  I wasn't afraid of the height, but concerned that if I nodded off, I would roll out and fall into the water.
• Later, I was waiting for someone somewhere and got hungry.  So I went to a nearby Church's chicken place, and ordered some catfish or shrimp.  And waited.  And waited.  The girl cooking was tending a large cauldron of boiling food, but I couldn't see my shrimp or catfish.  About three times, she sampled the cooking food, dribbling back into the pot as she did so. Not good. Two other dining patrons got their orders, and I left to go to another Church's down the street.
• Driving south, the other place was supposed to be on my left, but somehow I was mistaken or just missed it.  The neighborhood turned residential, and the road veered to the east - after a few hundred more yards, I turned around near some quad-plexes.
• On the return trip, the asphalt was muddy as I rounded the bend, and my car spun around - 360° - but otherwise stayed on course. About fifty yards later, again. The third time, I kinda coaxed the spin (just call me Mr. Bondurant).  As well, I initiated the fourth spin, but by this time I was getting apprehensive and scanned for speed limit or other roadside signage, remembering that time in '78 when I flattened my Opel's passenger door on a speed limit sign in north Grand Prairie while searching the center console for my wristwatch - and got it repaired at a body shop in Bridgeport, just west and across the street from where Dos Chiles is now.  At the successful conclusion of the fourth spin, having thankfully not hit any posts or pedestrians, I slowed my speed and continued northbound.
• About a hundred yards ahead was a first generation Bronco, whose driver had no doubt observed my stupid antics in his rear-view mirror.
• As the gap between our vehicles narrowed, his right side tires veered off the pavement into a muddy rut nearly a foot deep, and the Bronco left the roadway, rolled once clockwise down an embankment, and his front axle & differential assembly separated from the chassis.
• I went past about 75 yards - pulled over onto a grassy area to go check his condition - and woke up.
• I never got my catfish or shrimp.
• Here's another Daniel, who is not my brother:

If my ship ever comes in

...I'll probably be at the train station:

• I executed the most perfect parallel parking of my life today on East Exchange in the Stockyards, with less than 3' fore and aft of my SUV.  No excess moves.  Perfect distance from the curb.
• Probably never happen again.
• It was way windy - I thought it woulda been a good day to be downtown - since most of the women in the stockyards are in jeans and t-shirts.
• I don't normally have the same kind of meal twice in a day - but, I stopped at one of my favorite [fast] Asian places on Jacksboro Highway (Lake Worth Blvd) for Chicken Lo-Mein for lunch, then made beef stir fry for dinner.
• Not the end of the world, I know.
• One of the tellers at the bank where my office does business is super cute, although I am practical enough to recognize I'm probably old enough to be her father, so it's nothing more than an observation.
• Nonetheless, for a couple weeks, I kept wondering 'why does she look so familiar?'
• Last week, I nearly laughed out loud when, in the bank lobby, I realized her face looks like Fred Savage's, circa The Princess Bride.
• Odd.
• Do they serve escargot in a Dinning establishment?

• Maybe I knew, but forgot, 'Tex' Ritter's real name:

• It sure don't seem right fer somethin' with Texas in its name to be subordinated to a bunch of hosers:

• Still the king:

• Designed by the Father of the King of Kings:

Richard Starkey says...

Back off Juggalo!

OK, maybe it seemed funnier in rehearsal.  

And, I really have no idea who ICP are.

Would garlic butter do the trick?

As if Florida hadn't enough to worry about - hanging chads, sinkholes, and the like - now they're been overrun - or at least overslimed - by ginormous African land snails, some the size of a large rat.

I'm not sure if this variant is any kind of delectable delicacy - from what I read of escargot production, you want to purge (kinda what ya gotta do before your colonoscopy) them before you sauté them - but maybe if we offered work visas to some French chefs, we could find out.

Wonder if they go well on a bed of fresh kudzu?

Mindless Monday

• The title of the post was chosen before news broke of the horrific terrorism at the Boston Marathon.
• On reflection, it seemed apt.
• This post may contain some Henley-isms.  If you're not into that, or if you have a Henley allergy - you might wanna bail now.
• Prior to the Boston tragedy, this morning's chatter revealed that Justin Bieber hoped that had Anne Frank been alive, she would've been a fan, and so inscribed the guest book in the Anne Frank museum.  
• Henley, 'quoting' Lucifer in The Garden Of Allah: 

And I said, 'Gentleman....and I use that word loosely...

I'm a gun for hire, I'm a saint, I'm a liar
Because there are no facts, there is no truth
Just a data to be manipulated.
I can get any result you like -
What's it worth to ya? 
Because there is no wrong, there is no right 
And I sleep very well at night.
No shame, no solution
No remorse, no retribution
Just people selling T-shirts
Just opportunity to participate in the pathetic little circus
And winning, winning, winning.¹

• In the preceding passage, the Devil is a lawyer. Isn't that type-casting? 
• Elsewhere today I read where my body double, Corbin Bernsen (perhaps I embellish a little a lot), says he'd rather talk about God than Lindsay Lohan. You and me both, brother! 

• Would that we could somehow wean ourselves from endless fascination with celebrities. Also from The Garden... but from the narrator's voice: 

This year, notoriety got all confused with fame 

And the devil is downhearted 

Because there's nothing left for him to claim .¹

• At the time the song was written, Henley was [likely] referencing the Orenthal James trial circus, but the concept, and the song, remain/s [the same]. 
• I watched the CBS Evening News earlier, then left the TV on in the den. Now it's playing Two Broke Girls, a non-stop celebration of trash talk one-liners. I've never had one, so maybe I lack perspective, but I can't imagine STDs really being that amusing. 
• My oldest son texted me this afternoon: "What's up with everyone blowing *stuff* up?" 
• I don't know. Nobody knows.

And the fruit is rotten 
The serpent's eyes shine 
As he wraps around the vine 
In the Garden of Allah. ¹


• Whether your kids are all grown up or still in diapers, you'd like to be able to tell them everything will be alright, even though it's been a jacked-up world since Genesis 3 (the Bible chapter, not Banks/Collins/Rutherford's band).
• From They're Not Here, They're Not Coming (where 'they're' refers to aliens), excerpts:

To this Garden we were given
And always took for granted
Well it's like my Daddy told me -
You just bloom where you're planted.
Now you long to be delivered
From this world of pain and strife
That's a sorry substitution for a spiritual life.
...
No authenticity, no sign of soul
The radio won't play George and Merle.
...
They're not here, they're not coming
Not in a million years
'Til we put away our hatred
And lay aside our fears
You may see the heavens flashing
You may hear the cosmos humming
But I promise you, my brother
They're not here, they're not coming.² 

• I can't say I've never Ducked my Destiny in the past, but I'm trying to be mindful of Job, to remember whence all good gifts come:

Now the trouble with you and me, my friend 
Is the trouble with this nation
Too many blessings, too little appreciation.
And I know that kind of notion - well, it just ain't cool
So send me back to Sunday school.
Because I'm tired of waiting for reason to arrive.
It's too long we've been living
These unexamined lives. ³

• Daughter and I put a birdhouse the boys built years ago in Scouts on a t-post a couple of months back - she furnished it with leaves and grass to make it all homey and stuff. 
• Hopefully the cat's not in this cradle:

Easter Weekend - Momma on eggs

One weekend ago

Yesterday

• And, as of this morning, they'd all left the nest and taken flight.
• Blessed are the feet of the messengers, and the children:

Turn your hopes back homeward 

Hold your children, dry their tears.²

¹ The Garden of Allah - Don Henley, Stan Lynch, John Corey, Paul Gurian

² They're Not Here, They're Not Coming - Henley, Lynch

³ My Thanksgiving - Henley, Lynch, Jai Winding

How much Furthur?

In which Ken Kesey meets the Partridge Family, to hang out with the Cartwright Family at TMS: 

Or, maybe, it's simply a NASCAR thing:

It seems the National Rifle Association's sponsorship of this weekend's signature race got the Startle-gram sports writers' panties all in a wad.  One wrote a column in which he would not write the sponsor's name, and said precious little about the event itself, preferring to take the [unnamed] sponsor to task for supposed insensitivity following the Newtown, CT massacre.  Apparently, pushing back against a full-on assault on your constituency's core values by sponsoring a sporting event which is enjoyed by many of said constituents is frowned upon, whereas using your sports column to advance your social views is somehow noble.  Umm, okay.

Of course, if you're Dianne Feinstein or Chuck Schumer, you can use a tragedy to further your agenda with impunity.

"She didn't love you."