The blanket

Nebraska is covered in white today. A major snowstorm has let about 8" of the stuff float down on the Lincoln area. It's moist snow. Heavy. Hard to shovel. And slick under foot once you have cleared it away. But before all of the man-made arranging happens, it's nice to just look at Nebraska is a white coat of muffled glory.

A new snow brings muffled silence to the country side. Snow slows things down. Snow is a wonderful lesson in nature's fine art. Through all of that white, there are shades of dark brown and green as the trees stand like waiters clad in white near an expensive table. Little stream that go unnoticed suddenly cut their way through the whiteness in zig-zagging shades of dark brown and green. The long strands of brown grass peak through the drift and still reach for their playmate, the cold wind of the North. And if you listen carefully, the dried milkweed ponds have a song to play for you.

As you walk, you can hear the crunch of the snow as you compress it with your boot. It gives up its soft white grace with a sudden and often slow crunch to remind you that this is not going to be an ordinary walk on an ordinary day. You must walk slowly and deliberately and maybe that is God's way of say...open your eyes and the see the beauty in your life. It's everywhere. It's endless.

I know many people only think of snow are beautiful when they are in the mountains on their skis or snowboards. Not me. I will share the snow with the fox digging his nose into the drift to see where the field mouse might be. I will share the snow with the pheasant as it runs along the fence line in the dried brush that protects them.

And today, I will share the snow with you. After all, it's New Year's Eve and the greatest resolution might be to just take some time and see the wonder that is already in your life. Happy New Year!

Uncle Bill

Uncle Bill was my mother's bachelor brother. He lived on the old family farm to the Northwest of Hartington and well, he wasn't the cleanest of guys. Mom was always worried about Uncle Bill and when he showed up, she gave him the third degree on cleanliness. Once a year, she went out and cleaned his house.

I went along a couple of times. The house was almost the same as it was in the dirty 30's. A dust bunny trail lead from the door to the wood burning stove to the bed. He didn't have a washing machine so the bed was, well use your imagaination and see if you can hear my mom screaming about it. (Aunt Bee and Aunt Rebe got in a few licks, too.)

Uncle Bill lead the simple life. He got up, put on his overalls and DeKalb or John Deere hat, and headed for the coffee shop in town. Rain or snow, he headed for the coffee shop in town. He had coffee and then he sat is in car and watched life go buy until mid afternoon when he went back to the farm. Once in a while, there was a cow or two to take care of but this farmer didn't really do much farming. He planted his corn and left it up to God what would happen. The weeds took root and fought the corn for the moisture until fall when he harvested.

Then the holidays came along. He was expected to show up for Thanksgiving and for Christmas Eve but it was always a struggle.

"Go find Uncle Bill and tell him to come up to the house," mom ordered.

Off we would go. We searched the cafes (there were two of them back in those days--The Cedar Cafe and Ed's Cafe.) If those came up empty, then we searched the streets for the car. Occasionally, he would be napping, mouth open for all of the world to see and for my dear mother to worry about what folks might think.

Worst of all, the car might be found at the Widow Evans house. Mom would have none of that. The mention of the Widow Evans drove her into instant rage. "They are just friends and I don't want you boys to think anything else!"

Eventually, the message was delivered. He did not instantly appear but fairly soon, the unwashed uncle and the unwashed car showed up at the house. Mom was the ultimate Christmas person so the house was full of decorations--including a deer hear on the front porch with a blinking red light for a nose. She baked tons of cookies and little loafs of bread of various kinds. He took his medicine and sat down at the kitchen table and started to paw through the cookies.

"Wash you hand!" she'd bark. He did. "Let me see what's growing in your ears," she'd say as she started her exam. He continued to eat cookies. When he was done, he pulled his can of Old Velvet tobacco from his overalls, held a cigarette paper, and rolled a cigarette. If he coughed when he lit it, burning tobacco flew through the air like Roman candle shots.

"You're going to burn the house down!" She'd say as she grabbed for a damp towel to put out the embers now burning on his overalls. He said nothing but the twinkle in his eye told me he knew what buttons to push.

Christmas isn't the same for me without the fuss my mom generated. Uncle Jelly isn't standing around with his red nose and funny laugh as he sampled one too many of my dad's Tom & Jerrys. And there is no bachelor Uncle Bill around to drive the siblings nuts. He was the family maverick.

Just like me.

The Rise of Fall

I really love this picture. I took it a few miles North of Lincoln on a nice early fall day. I say early because there is still plenty of green around. But, the color is there. We are there right now...the rise of fall.

Yesterday it was still and 92. Today it is windy and 61. Who knows about tomorrow. It's like a teenager discovering some things beyound skate boards.

And for adults, it is pure eye candy. The older I get, the more I notice. Plus, I have left the driving to the city of Lincoln and sit in the back of the #7 Belmont bus as it winds its way through the suburbs to my little napping rug. Each day I can see a street go from green to yellow to red to gold. Each day you can see kids go from shorts and t-shirts to heasvier jackets and stocking caps. College students are the hold outs. They are still in flip-flops and probably will be until the snow gets pretty deep.

Fall used to mean football to me but I have weaned my way off of that. I haven't watched a game and even though I like to see the Huskers win, it's not a big thing if they don't. I would just as soon spend a fall afternoon on my bike riding through Nebraska City. Maybe a piece of apple pie and ice cream along the way.

And take pictures. Like this one....a picture that caught the rise of fall.

Christmas?

Christmas.

Is n't it just a bit early for Christmas?

Not according to Serria Trading Post. I got their Christmas catalog today. Scheels has had a good part of their store decked out for a couple of weeks. Come on already!

I am a buy everything on the 24th of December kind of guy. I don't even start thinking about it until the week before. Frankly, Christmas is one huge pain in the ass.

It didn't use to be that. But that was a long time ago when we made it a point to have Holloween. Then the Nebraska-Oklahoma game. Then Thanksgiving dinner. Then snow and cold. Then Christmas.

Almost all of that stuff is gone. We go from the 4th of July to Christmas.

The holiday has nothing to do with Jesus anymore. It has to do with making retail projections. It has to do with meeting projections before Wal-Mart does you in. It has to do with getting what is hot and battling your way to the front of the line by any means necessary. It has to do with being in line outside of Best Buy at four in the morning the day after Thanksgiving. If the item is really hot, it has to do with camping in front of Best Buy for a couple of days.

Well enough. I am not celebrating Christmas anymore. No presents for me, please. Give the money to some charity that can go buy some toys on sale on Christmas Eve and put smiles on kids who really need smiles.

Goodbye Ray

Tuesday was a sad day. I haven't seen one of my ole' high school buddy since, well since high school. That was 42 years ago. His name was Ray.

Yes, my ole' high school chum died. I didn't even know he was sick. Kidney failure got him I guess. There must have been some other issues because his casket was closed. In a way, I am glad it was. It would have been hard for me to look at him because all I can see right now is a strappy 18 year old with a great smile who was a great friend.

Ray was a fun guy. We played football together. We hunted the hills around Hartington together. We drank some illegal beer together. We just hung out together. I had lots of friends but Ray was in that "tight" circle with the two Al's, Forinash, Peterson, Burney, and Me. That was high school. When was the last time you had a tight group of friends like that?

I sat in the pew and listened to the eulogy and biblical readings appropriate to his life. I got caught up a little on what happened to Ray. I saw his kids and their kids. I knew his first wife and met his second one for the first time. It only took about a hour or so.

I spent a couple of minutes alone with him, too. He was under a beautiful red white and blue flag. He would be buried with full military honors on Wednesday at Fort McPhearson National Cemetery out by North Platte. I put my hand on the flag and just simple said...hey buddy, I'm here.

And then, I moved some tears around so he could rest in that special place in my heart until my heart goes silent, too. Goodbye old' buddy. You were much loved.

It's been a long time, huh

Well it has been a long time since I have written anything on here. Please note the sneaky advertising man's catch phrase..."on here."

No, I cannot and will not be smacked about the head for not writing. The fact is, my old fingers hurt from writing. At least I hope they hurt from writing. If that is not the cause, good grief, I may be getting old.

So go ahead. Ask me what I have been writing....a screenplay! Yup, I wrote a no-kidding movie and I am so proud of myself I could almost go on vacation. I would tell you all about it except I don't have the copyright back yet and there may be some sneaky movie mogal lurking around knowing full well that writing a movie was one of my big life goals.

It was a big goal for me. Kind of like getting your driver's license at 16. Or your first legal snootfull at 21. Or that high of highs...your first airplane solo. This was a VERY BIG deal for me.

Will my screenplay make it to the silver screen? Who knows. It's a long shot but life is a long shot. And anyone who knows me can tell you I am a big fan of long shots. That's why I am so poor and so rich at the same time.

Live like you have just fallen off a horse and your eyes have yet to uncross. Go find that critter and ride again. Yehaw!!

The Old Soldier

I have been writing. Really I have! But, I have not been blogging and I am catching some grief from that. The fact is, I am writing a screenplay. Yes, a real, no-kidding movie. What the heck, life is short and there are so many things one can do.

Today I am going to do a blog entry. I got the idea when I boarded the trusty No. 27 bus and headed downtown this morning. It was one of those clear but clammy summer Nebraska days. The humidity was already high and the weather forecast was for near 100 temps. That's when the airways are full of warnings...drink lots of water; give your extra fans to the Salvation Army; look in on the elderly.

And there he was. Indians would regard him as almost a holy man. He is lost in his mind and very rarely comes out to visit. He is busy talking with his brother, so some say. They talk about the day and old times and old friends. The conversation is one-sided. His brother is long gone. His brother was in the same foxhole as this old soldier when a bomb went off. His brother was killed. This old soldier lost both of his legs right below the knees.

Every day, and I mean EVERY day, he boards the bus and heads for Wal-Mart. It used to be K-Mart until they closed. He buys a few little things and heads home. Today, he was dressed in jeans, a jean jacket, and a flannel shirt underneath. He leans heavily on his wooden cane because his legs don't fit that well. I picked him up off the street one day when one of the legs gave out and turned sidways. He couldn't get up and since he had a little reputation for being "touched", no one stopped to help.

I took him home. He told me where to turn and was pretty specific about his directions. But between the directions, he and his bother talked away and I was more than happy to let them chat. He still says "Hi" to me on the bus and will tell me how he is getting along. Then it is back to his day and the stories in his mind.

I worry about the old guy. If I had wheels, I would have taken him home today. But, both of us are relying on the bus and the grace of God to get through the day.

He struggled to get down the bus steps and out onto the street to catch the next bus home. He has a couple of blocks to walk once he gets off that bus.

But on he will go in heavy jeans, a jean jacket, a flannel shirt, and on legs that don't fit. It's humid and hot in Lincoln today. But pause for a minute. Let an old soldier pass by. Let him visit with his brother. And most of all, honor what he did for his country and what a price he paid.

Music

I have never been that much of a music nut. Sure, I love to hear it but I am one of those guys who could not tell you what the title of a good song really was. Or sure, there are some that you know right off. For example, I am listening to Ray Charles sing America the Beautiful right now. What word works? Wow. Not quite enough. Moving. Yes it does. Almost to tears. There just is not a good choice. It is what it awesomelly is.

There are songs that I really enojoy. Riding on the City of New Orleans is one even thought I have never cared for that city. I begged Willie to sing it one time and finally he did. That made my wow list.

I am beginning to understand some songs more as I get older. The Sound of Silence. People talking without speaking...people listening without listening...talk about today...like silent raindrops fell.

Then there are some songs that make me want to jump into the bus asile and grab anyone who is having a bad day and dance. Brown Eyed Girl. Respect. And Ballamos. (That's a big time favorite.)

I have been fortunate to have met some of the best singers of our time while I was hauling Willie around. Johnny Cash. Waylon. Ray Charles. They were all great people. But, I didn't know music that well and when I turned on the radio, I went looking for a rock station.

Go figure.

There is a lot of truth in music of course. Some of it cuts to the quick. And some of it cuts to the quick personnally. It's like the singer|writer knew you personally and was shaking his guitar pick at you.

Dylan does that to me today. I loved some of his songs and sang them during some drunken outings at the Kappa Sig house when I was stumbling my way though college. Everyone chimed in on parts...like a rolling stone...can you hear your out-of-tune singing friends chime in? Can you see their smiling faces? Can you smell the beer and the cigarette smoke? Can you remember rebellion and war and God I hope I get at least a 2.0 this sememster?

I wasn't at Remington Arms Company very long before I met Mr. Personality. His name was Bob Reineck. He was an Ohio State grad and in sales and had it all. Personality. Looks. And he got into the sack faster than anyone I ever knew. "Just walk up, tell a joke or something, and ask them if they want to *uck."

"That's it?" I asked. "Don't you get slapped?"

"Sure," he said. "But I also get laid alot."

And he knew music. One Friday, he came over to my office and pleaded with me to go to a concert with him for the weekend. It was about 90 miles away he said and it was on some farm. He saw fun and good times. I saw mosquito bites and I was going fishing. I didn't catch any fish but Bob caught Woodstock. Can you believe I passed on Woodstock? If you run into Reineck, he'll verify that and laugh his cute head off that he used to hang out with me.

Not many people hang out with me today. I am pretty much alone by choice. I live in a hotel with the basics but I have made one big change. I have added more music and an I-Pod to the mental mix. I have made room for Aretha again. And Van Morrison. And Willie. And Enrique. And Ray. And Mama Cass. And Simon and Garfunkel. You are already humming aren't you.

So am I. And maybe welling up a little. Music hasn't been a bigge to me but it is taking me on a journey again. It was nice to be in the Kappa Sig House. It was nice to remember Reineck. It was nice to remember my Willie Days.

And it is good to face the truth once in a while...how does it feel...to be without a home...like a complete unknown...like a rolling stone?

Sometimes I could cry.

The hill

Ok, spring is slowing moving out. The windy cold days are giving way to windy warmer days and that means summer is not far away. Soon, it will he hotter than fist place at the CNN microphone after a congressional vote.

To me, this is the offical start of biking season. I have been out a couple of times already and have one big ride in. It was a 20 mile one a couple of weekends ago. The first 10 miles went fine and I was really happy with the shape I was in. Then, I turned around and realized I had been riding with the wind. That part made it clear I wasn't ready for ESPN's Race of the Goats. Old goats I mean.

Anyway, I am living in a nifty place right now. It's a week stay new hotel and anyone who knows me knows hotels are just fine with me. They don't have to be fancy, either. I am as happy in an old run down one next to a Denny's as the Las Vegas Hilton. There is just something about hotel living that agrees with me.

This one is built on a new street in a new neighborhood in a new part of Lincoln. It's so new that some of the sidewalks are not complete so some of them end and you have some dirt to navigate or as the case more recently, mud. At the bottom of the hill that leads to my little hotel is one of Lincoln's major streets. It's a four lane divided one that comes off of Interstate 80 and the speedlimit is medium zoom--not the best place for a biker. I mean mountain biker, pedal type.

If you look south from the intersection, you will see it. I think it could have been developed as a ski slope. If you don't raise your glance, your eyes will rest about half way up. In bike terms, this one is a challenge--somewhere down there in the 1:1, 1:2 gear range by the time you get to the top. Frankly, I run out of bike and juice before I get there so rather than get off my bike and walk it up the rest of the way in humiliation. I take another route. This one take you around the big hill and up a different, more gentle grade to nirvana--Wal-Mart and HyVee.

About 1/3 of that approach is around and through a new Lincoln high school complex. It's big. Bigger than all of my home town Hartington. I am sure it cost more to build than all of Hartington, too.

I decided to take the easy way because I stepped in a hole coming off the bus yesterday and apparently injured my goatusmus maximus. No, I didn't injure my butt or "glute." The goatamus is the muscle that runs along the bottom of your foot. It
doesn't have the best ability to stretch and take abuse like it did when I was a 55 year old kid. As a result, I am in some pain and convinced myself that what I needed could be found by biking to Wal-Mart.

It was a beautiful night and an easy ride so it was a good decision on my part. I bought some ibuprofen, one of those heating bags you can microwave, and some cool whip to go with my chocolate ice cream.

After all, just because I am injured doesn't mean I don't need to keep up my strength.

What killed our culture

I can still remember Bun, my dear departed Mom, giving me strict instructions on how to greet people as I walked down busy Main Street in Hartington, Nebraska.

"Now you look people right in the eye and say hello. If you know who they are, then you say Hello Mr. So and So or Hello Mrs. So and so. You never call an adult by their first name unless they give you permission to do so, understand?"

I was a little confused. There were Robinsons, and Stouts, and Haleys, and O'Mearas, and Shumways, but I never did meet the So and Sos. Go figure.

Anyway, that advice propelled me to great hights in Hartington. I became popular as a young man on his way to somewhere. Nobody has that figured out yet, but I was on the way.

I went on to college at Huskerville, in Lincoln, Nebraska. Every Nebraska kid wanted to go there and watch football. It took a few years to figure out why I was there and get technical with a major. Mom's advice served me well and I managed to get into a great Fraternity. Soon, I was the first college grad in the family and was on my way to Connecticut to go to work for the Good and or Glorious Remington Arms Company. "Hello Mr. Mitchell. Hello Mr. McAndrews. Hello Mr. Larson, OK, hello Einar."

Mom's rules helped me climb the corporate ladder. Well, make that a footstool because I only stayed at Remington for four years. I came back to Huskerville to open an advertising agency and watch more football.

Then it happened. Society stopped saying hello. Society stopped looking one another in the eye unless you had a tin cup and looked a little bummie. People's heads bounced up and down and some looked like they had the palsey as their bodies slinked along the sidewalks, oblivious to anyone and anything.

Everyone seemed to have a headband on and ear cups. The Sony Walkman had arrived and it was no longer important to meet and greet and be social. You could sing and walk and talk to yourself and not pay attention to anyone and anything.

My mom would not have liked this change unless she knew you could listen to Nebraska Football anywhere with one.

And the poor So and Sos would be lost in the I-Pod shuffle. Too bad. They were probably very nice people.

The Mexican Government Response

President Bush is going to make a speech tomorrow night. (I hope it doesn't bump 24!)
He is going to tell us how he plans to secure the border and improve his ratings. At least that's what they were saying on Sunday morning TV shows.

Frankly, I am worried about this speech. Presidente Fox has already summoned the Chinese Ambassador to learn how the wall idea really worked. Insiders in Mexico say there is a new government department in the works if the wall idea goes through.

They may create a Departmente de Escaler.

Fox may hire the president of Pepsi to run his new Department of Ladders. Now granted, Pepsi has long been climbing the profit ranks right behind Fox's Coca-Cola, but that is just not the right guy for the job. (Note the American giving advice already before any speeches are made or departments formed. I sound like Senator Patrick Leahy I know.)

But I can't help it. If the Mexican's want their Department of Ladders to work on our wall, they need to hire someone with ladder experience. Perhaps the CEO of Mennards or Home Depot would be a good choice. (I would have tossed Wal-Mart in there but I am not sure their ladders are tall enough or stout enough for a Mexican attack like this.)

And if we deploy the National Guard, that's a whole different ball game. They will just install ladder hooks on the humvees and drag them all to a military surplus outlet.

Good Lord. God Lost!

Nebraska football rules Nebraska. Well, at least it use to. President Nixon came to Lincoln in 1971 to present the first national championship trophy to Coach Bob Devaney. The roar from the crowd led Nixon to say..."well you should run for office."

Devaney never did run for an office. The program was passed on to his fair-haired coach, Tom Osborne. Osborne had a bunch of chances to win the national championship but never got it done until the mid 1990's. After that, Nebraska was always in the hunt. So far, there are five national championship trophies in the Nebraska trophy room.

Tom Osborne, or as we call him TO, retired and went on to other things. He ran for Congress and won. TO started a mentoring program called Teammates which is spreading across the country. The university named the football field after him even though he didn't want that to happen. They named a new sports complex after TO and his wife Nancy. He wasn't big on that idea either.

TO is a soft-spoken man of faith. He has unquestioned moral character. He would be right up there with Boy's Town founder Father Flanigan, Johnny Carson, and Willa Cather for most admired Nebraskans. He had plans for one more big deal.

TO wanted to be Governor of Nebraska.

But there was already a Republican Governor named Dave Hinemann. Most Nebraskans were satisfied with the job Governor Dave was doing. After all, he went to Cuba and cut a nice deal to sell Nebraska grain and beans. He has cut taxes. Best of all, he is likeable and approachable. Governor Dave seems like, well Governor Dave. Nothing fancy. Nothing stuffy. Just Governor Dave.

I can only imagine the sinking feeling he had when he learned that TO was going to try to beat him in the primary. Some folks said it would be a landslide for TO.

But Governor Dave won. He beat a living legend.

There may be a lesson here that most folks might look past. Every politician running in Nebraska say they represent "Nebraska Values." On election day, Nebraska values voted. The message is loud and clear: If someone is doing a good job, there is no reason to fire him.

I am sorry that TO lost. But I would have been sadder if Governor Dave lost. He earned the right to stay Governor of Nebraska.

The Last Great American Boycott

There really is something good about being 60. You have lived in the best of times and the worst of times. Well, maybe the Greatest Generation has a better claim to that claim but they are almost gone.

My bunch was that "60's crowd." The Beatles. I was more of a Beach Boy fan. The marches on Selma and Birmingham. The sit-ins. Kent State. The Draft. The anti-war protest marches. Let's face it, our group was a very busy group.

And things changed.

Music changed to music that is still hard to top. Dirty lyrics? Well I listened to Louie-Louie slowed down with a bunch of fraternity brothers to really figure out what the lyrics were. Yes, they did say that.

The war ended. The Greatest Generation sent their sons off to a bad war and let them lose. It stained a generation. And I am not even trying to tie that observation to agent orange.

The protests that started in the deep South changed America. Universities opened up. Klans shut down. Racist goverment fell. Racial leaders rose. A failed president relalized he had failed and stepped away from power. Protests brought the Viet Nam war to an end and made "baby killers" a spitting image of America. How awful to have been a boy sent to war because he got drafted and come home to that.

Not much got by in the 60's without a fight of some sort. The Great Society came into being. Civil rights laws got passed. People got kicked out.

It's a good thing Exon-Mobile didn't have to face a boycott in the 1960's. They would have been in deep do-do. Signs. Honking horns. Riot cops and barricades. Fire hosesed crowds. (I got washed down by Engine 1 just because we were threatening a panty raid at a UNL female dorm.)

So, if you are going to pull into an Exon-Mobile station and buy gas after May 1, turn your radio to some 50's music or some of that sameo 70's Bee Gee junk because you have no business listening to 60's music if you can't join a good boycott.

Just fill up your SUV, your half-gallon jug of watered down Diet Coke, and whimp out. We will never see 60's courage-to-change again.

So put your Blackberry down. Unhook your mouth from you cell phone. Pull your I-Pod ear buds out of your ears. Think about your country for a minute. Think about the people who are getting hurt. Then, think about Exon Mobile. Isn't that enough to buy your gas anywhere but there?

If not, then you know why we have...the leaders we have and the America we have.

The fine art of Pogo Pricing

Did you have a pogo stick when you were a kid? For those of you who don't know what a pogo stick is, think of a car clothes rod with a spring inside of the two tubes and a step welded about six inches from one end. Step onto the step and jump up into the air. When you come down, the spring collapses and springs you back into the air. Each time you bounce a step ahead until you run into something or someone. Your mom would worry that you are going to kill yourself on the damn thing unless she was Pete Rickets' mom, Marlene who would worry that Pete forgot his hat.

Apply the same concept to pricing--the pogo stick not Pete Rickets mom and the hat thing. More specifically, apply the pogo stick to oil company pricing. The price of oil goes up and gas prices bounce us into the air. You mom, or in this case everyone, gets worried about a crash but the price comes down some time after the vault.

The difference is oil companies have learned how to use the pogo stick on an inclined sidewalk. Each time they bounce prices into the stratosphere, they come down and move a little further up the walk. You, like your mom who worried about you, are just glad to see you come down safely and breathe a big sigh of relief.

$1.34 a gallon *pogo* $2.00 a gallon *back down* $1.45 a gallon (sigh of relief) *pogo* $2.54 a gallon *back down* $1.89 a gallon (sigh of relief). Get the idea? I know, Pete Rickets' mom is having a tough time putting the hat on pogoing Pete. None the less, we see a true Nebraska value going on here. Each time the Pogo price comes down, they have successfully set a new standard much higher than before and everyone who has bought gas at the top of the pogo hop is grateful. More money goes to their pockets and the $400 million retirement fund for the former chief pogoer. Opra is talking about something different now. I know, Pete Ricket's mom is still more concerned about the hat.

Pogo pricing is going to continue as long as there are stupes like us that put up with it. Demand aside, and the breeding habits of big goats in Alaska protected, the price will pogo it's way to $5 a gallon before we know it and by then, we will be grateful it is only $5.00 a gallon.

Trust me, Pogo Pricing is here to stay. Hopefully, Pete Rickets will remember to wear his hat and his mom can get something done in Washington if she, he, they get elected. Whatever.

A close call for the Senator

[immigration]


I was just about to enter the Wal-Mart store when I noticed two men in the parking lot. One was a television cameraman and they other man was a well dressed man in a suit. The man in the suit caught my attention because he didn’t look like he should be in a place like this.

Suddenly, the man in the suit collapsed. I dropped my bag full of Chinese made goods and ran over to the stricken man.

“What happened?” I asked the cameraman as I dropped to my knee and fumbled through my wallet for my Red Cross CPR card.

“I don’t know,” the cameraman said. “I was shooting some shots of the parking lot and this man ran up and swallowed my camera.”

Sure enough, the eye piece of the camera was sticking out of the man’s mouth. I looked at his terrified face. “Inside Politics” was showing in both of his dilated pupils. Then, I recognized who it was.

“My God, this is Senator Hagel,” I said as I carefully checked him for a pulse and if any air was getting through his airway past that camera. His Purple Heart seemed to be fine.

“You had better call 911,” I said as the cameraman pulled out his cell phone.

Hagel’s hand reached for my arm and he tried to move his head from left to right. I bent down to listen.

“Bla berr,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that now, Senator,” I told him as I patted his arm. “We don’t have black only cemeteries anymore and that’s more of a Senator Kennedy or former President Clinton gesture.”

“I think he means his Blackberry,” the cameraman suggested as he put his cell phone back in his pocket. Off in the distance, you could hear the wailing sounds of an approaching Lincoln Fire Department ambulance. A crowd started to gather.

I checked his suit jacket pocket and sure enough, there was his Blackberry. The Senator grabbed my arm again.

“Spee 1,” he whispered past the stuck camera.

“You have to pee?” I asked.

“No,” the cameraman said as he knelt down and took the Blackberry from my hand, “he wants you to speed dial number 1.”

“Go ahead,” I said as the cameraman took the device from my hand and dialed. The cameraman got a funny look on his face.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Voice mail for some guy named Stephanopoulos. It says he is out having a cokie or something and to leave a message.” The cameraman left a message that the Senator had collapsed and to call back as soon as possible and hung up.

“Did you tell that guy that the Senator was in Lincoln, Nebraska?” I asked.

“No, why?” the cameraman asked.

“Well they would never guess he was here and would probably send people to New Hampshire or some power bar in Washington or New York looking for him.

The ambulance came to a screeching halt in front of us. Soon, the paramedics took over the medical examination. Two buses full of Hagel staffers showed up as well. They watched and emailed each other from a safe distance.

“We need to put him on the gurney and take him to the hospital as soon as possible,” the paramedic told me as he stepped back. “We’re Americans so we aren’t doing any heavy lifting.”

I looked at the crowd. “Are there any illegal aliens who can do some of this heavy lifting for us? You don’t have to worry about immigration. This is Senator Hagel so he will make sure any immigration officer who bothers you will face retirement.”

Thirty small men came out from under the Wal-Mart carts. More came from the nearby trees by Home Depot. Eight of the strongest came up to help.

“Just put him on the gurney and put the gurney in the ambulance,” I told them. “We’ll pay you $2 an hour and forget the Social Security and withholding taxes.”

A Mexican man looked at the Senator. “Santo politico Hagel!” he gasped.

The Mexican women dropped to their knees and made the Sign of the Cross. A mariachi band came out of the trees and started to play.

“He needs to go,” the paramedic said.

“But how?” I asked as a CNN news truck pulled up.

“What do you mean?” the paramedic said. “We need to put him in the ambulance and take him to the hospital and get that camera out."

“Not necessarily,” I said. “We had better take a poll.” I looked at the crowd and the staffers. “OK,” I said, “all Republicans, or ones who play that role in Nebraska, who are not staffers over here on my far right. If you are a Democrat be patient, you will be allowed to offer amendments, but please stand quietly on my far left.”

“No they won’t!” a bothered staffer said as he held his Blackberry to his ear and typed on his PC with his elbow. “They don’t let us make amendments.”

“Oh, ok,” I said, “my bad. I am just a typical Nebraskan so I don’t understand all of that stuff.”

None the less, using that select group of typical voters, we fashioned a poll with three choices. The Senator could go by ambulance to the hospital accompanied by eight Mexicans to do the hard lifting. He could go with the CNN crew and they would retrieve the video tape and give it to Wolf Blitzer and share it with Stephanopoulos if he called back. Or, the Senator would go with the garbage truck and the mariachi band to the Nebraska political dump.

I didn’t participate in the poll but I must say, I did enjoy hearing the mariachi music coming from a specially designated holy place in the Lincoln landfill later that night.

60

Good grief how did that happen? I turned 60 today. The first thing I saw on the news this morning was a commercial for one of those battery powered wheel chairs. This is depressing.

My birthday used to be fun. When my dear Mom was alive, I always called her early in the morning on my birthday and said..."Remember that big pain you had x years ago? This is it!"

She loved it. I miss her dearly.

Yesterday, I rode my bike about 20 miles. I walked another 6. I was all over Lincoln and it was a nice day to do that. My "fitness" program is self inflicted as the old car finally gave out and the bus, the bike, and walking are my current options. According to the government statistics, I am 25 pounds over-weight so this isn't such a bad deal. Make that 20 pounds over-weight.

But 60 is gnawing mightly on my mind. I must have blown a quarter century in there somewhere and there is no help desk or refund department.

But, on we go being glad I got to live and delighted with who I am.

After all, how many guys get to join the circus five or six times during their life!

What ever happened to truthful claims?

I am a Cingular wireless customer.


That's a bad choice in Lincoln. The only five bars you will see here are lined up on O Street. At home, I get two max, even on a good day.

Yesterday, I lost a business call to Denver 5 times!

That's enough to make a rabbit chase a dog. And, it's not the first time this has happened. I went to the Cingular store to see what the problem was.

The reason I get lousy service, according to the Cingular folks, is because the Lincoln City Council likes Alltel better than Cingular and are making it difficult for Cingular to open in a cell tower in my area of town and deliver their alleged five bar service.

Best Buy, my old stomping gounds, confirmed the lack of tower problem. If they lack the tower, they lack the capability to deliver five bar service. That's a given.

Then why keep offering this "raising the bar" serivce if they can't raise a tower in the first place?

Guess who gets stuck paying good money for bad service?

Maybe it's time to hold their feet to the fire instead of my checkbook. Sounds like a good idea to me.

A Liittle Grin

OK, I can't help it. I know it is kind of nasty to be this way, but I can't help it. When you are a writer and you pour your heart into something and it doesn't find its way to some kind of critical fame, you die a little bit inside.

I like to write stuff that tugs at the ole heart. I like to write stuff that makes people smile and maybe snicker a little. (No, I am not recommending eating a candy bar when you read one of my books.)

So, when something comes along like this, well I just can help smiling a little and maybe even flipping the bird to the publishing world and her.

She is the guard to the door of who makes it big and who doesn't. She seems to be stuck on these great journeys of the down and out and how they came back from drugs and bad marriages and anything else about the frail human condition. She should go to an AA meeting and listen.

So Oprah, here's to you and the big lie you turned into a blockbuster best seller.

I can't help feeling nothing for you. After all, there are lots of good books out there that can make you laugh and cry and snicker and they are not written by lying gold diggers like the ones who sit on your couch so often. (Go ahead and eat one.)

Winter?

It was 58 degrees in Lincoln yesterday.

The sun was bright and shiney and the Mopac trail, my favorite bike trail, was as packed as I have ever seen it.

I wore short and walked a little. The key word is little because my knee is out and giving me lots of grief. But, you can't pass up a day like that. What a treat!

One of my resolutions was to get out more and I am keeping true to that one. It's easy when winter doesn't happen. January, which is usually pretty brutal in Nebraska has really been tame. So, keeping the outdoor resolution is really easy--no biking through the deep snow.

Even with the nice string of days, the common phrase is "we need the moisture." Yup, we do. It's plenty dry and fires could get going at anytime. You see the results of small ones along the Interstate where somebody has tossed out a lit cigarette.

Stupid.

Kind of like this blog entry today. But, I needed to tell about yestereday.

What a nice gift!

The Touble With Texas

Well, it's over. College football has a new champion and it is fianlly...Texas. When you consider a few things about Texas, they sure have taken their sweet time to get there.

First of all, Texas is sooooo damn big. Did you realize that a flight from Lincoln to Houston is over Texas for almost half of the time? Did you realize that a flight from Austin to LA is about the same? Texas is massive. It's the land pig of America covered in bait and BBQ sauce.

Sure, there are other great universities in Texas. Smarties go to Baylor. Preppies go to A&M. Also rans go to Tech. People who like Chinese food go the Rice I suppsoe. But, Texas is still the BIG deal! There are over 50,000 students at Texas. Oklahoma is barely 20,000 and I think Nebraska is 28,000.

And some would say that makes it a little unfair when it comes to football. Football is different in Texas. I know, I lived there. My golfing buddy was God...Darrell Royal.

A kid who can play football in Texas is going to do just fine in high school. Trust me. A really good football player kid is going to do fine at A&M. But, the great football player kid is going to go to Texas and become a "horn."

That just is. Plus, universities from all over the country cross Texas day and night to pick off some good to great players to get them to come to wherever. Even Oklahoma.

The Texas trophy room is full of great honors and Heismans but they are a little short on fine crystal. Darrell won a couple when he was the head man but there hasn't been any since. By comparison, Nebraska has 5. That will give a Texan with a mouth-full of BBQ a spit hemorrhage.

Finally they won the big one. It was close. It was brutal. Nobody in the press thought they would win except Terry Bowden who had it almost nailed to the exact points.

Vince Young was incredible. Hopefully he will turn pro in the next 15 days so the playing field in the rest of the Big 12 can be level again. (Nebraska has to play both USC and Texas next year.) But have no fear, Nebraska is on the way back.

None the less, Texas is just too damn big. It needs to be whacked up some. Let's pass a law and create North Texas, East New Mexico, Southern Panhandle Oklahoma, and maybe, New Bevo. (That would be the turf down by the Mexican border.) If we whacked up Texas, we wouldn't have to listen to the downside of last night's long over-due win.

That would be the whooping arrogant Texas fans. Not Mac Brown. He's a good man and deserves this win.

For a long time, I had a t-shirt design that said:

Never have so many...
Done so little...
With so much...
TEXAS FOOTBALL.

Last night they finally did. Congrats Texas. The fat lady with the paralyzed hand finally sang.