A BIG hand for LPD

My favorite store was robbed a couple of nights ago. I happened to go there the following morning. A Lincoln Police car was parked just outside the front door and an officer had the gate pulled down a little as he stood on a ladder dusting the gate for prints. Not good.

My friend Travis the shoe guy filled me in with as much as he knew. There was a robbery during the night. The thieves came through the front door after breaking one of them. The got the big garage door metal protective gate up somehow. They wanted guns and got plenty of them--84 according to news reports.

Most of the guns were handguns. But there were some military style assault rifles. That is a lot of firepower in the wrong hands and these were the wrong hands. How could they get away with such a crime at a big mall like South Point?

For one thing, there was no security. The crime happened around 2:00am and security stops at 1:00am. I know, dumb. The Sheels cameras produced dark film. Double dumb. In this day, motion detectors should have lit that place up like Christmas. Plus, some security companies offer a service that also records and alerts security to things like breaking glass. The store and the mall both get a big F. They owe themselves and us the best security, especially when it comes to guns.

My thought was the guns were long gone to some other place. But less than 24 hours later, Lincoln Police Swat unit recovered 30 of them and made three arrests. They were local gang members. Bravo LPD. That's very impressive considering what you had to work with.

Perhaps they will get the rest of them soon--both guns and thieves. If not, the "hood" just got a whole lot more dangerous.

Some folks will be hollering for more gun laws and that makes me yawn. If you want to stop gun violence, register ammunition. If you come up on a records check or a mental health check, no bullets for you.

After all, how dangerous is a gun without bullets? And, old guns and stolen guns now have new rules to play under.

But that debate may never come. Until then, we have to rely on law enforcement to keep us safe and last night, Lincoln Police did a hell of a great job!

Catching the maid

Jack was the photographer on the first Lerjet job I ever had. It was a specially modified Lear with a camera about the size or a beer cooler stood on end, peering through the floor at the ground below.

We were taking pictures for the US Geological Service who, in turn, made all kinds of maps. I was the copilot on the three man crew and my job was to preflight the plane and to not touch anything once the plane was airborne. That's the way the captain wanted it and that's what he got. Such an order and a lack of any training meant that if he died, we probablly all died because I didn't have a clue how to fly the damn thing.

We roamed about the country trying to find absolutely cloudless skies to take pictures from as high as 49,000 feet. Yes, that is up there. We even went to 51,250 feet once and frankly, that scared the hell out of me.

As we roamed, so did our base of operations. Find the cheapest hotel in the town and we were in it. We dined nightly at some cheap burger place or a pancake house. We didn't go to bars and I had about as much in common with the captain and old Jack than I do with a mentor at a quilting store.

Then the mystery happened. Jack looked frustrated at one breakfast. In fact, he looked downright mad.

"What's wrong, Jack?" I asked.

"The maid is stealing my scotch," he answered.

The captain laughed and told Jack he was drinking too much. The maid was innocent. Jack left in a huff as the captain laughed at him.

You can guess how the next few days went. The captain was relentless. He made fun of Jack and the maid. Finally, Jack had enough. He devised a plan.

"I caught her red-handed," Jack said proudly at breakfast.

"You couldn't have," the captain said. "We leave the hotel before the maids start work."

"Well I caught her red-handed."

"How?" I asked.

"Well," Jack said as he leaned forward and got a sly grin on his face, " I poured the scotch into another container I had and peed into the bottle. It's the same color. Then I marked the pee level on the bottle's label."

I howled. "You peed in the scotch bottle?"

"Yup," he said. "And sure enough, the level has been going down for two days how. She is drinking my scotch."

"No she ain't," the captain said. "She is drinking your pee. You want them hash browns?" he asked me.

I shook my head no and he scraped them off of my plate and into a clean ashtray and ate them.

So much for classy pilots, huh.

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The creek

He knows he is there. Right there in the widest part. He could be the biggest sucker in Nebraska. And, if he caught it, that would mean a sure headline and picture in the Cedar County County News.

"Have a nice day," his mom said as he left the house. "But stay out of the mud with your new tennis shoes."

He looked down at his new Converse shoes. They are almost too bright to look at in the blazing summer sun. But, he is waiting. He is challenging his boyhood.

The other guys have better poles than his. They have fancy fiberglass ones with reels and clear line. He looks at his bamboo pole and the fixed green line with a bobber about two feet above the hook and rusty nut weight. He knows how to use it. He will feel the bite if the bite comes and he will snap that pole back and set the hook. This fish will not be the one that got away.

He looks at the tall weeds and starts to move in toward the stream. He looks for stickers and neddles. He hates those itching neddles. He also looks for poision ivy. His scout training has taught him what to look for.

As he gets closer to the stream, the ground gets softer. He can feel his new shoes sinking in up to the canvas part. Soon, he can feel his socks getting wet. And then, his new tennis shoes sink into the gooey mud. He looks down at them and he knows he is going to catch it when he gets home.

A horsefly lands on his arm. He does not see it. It bites him and he drops his pole and slaps it dead. Little clouds of gnats are swiriling around his head. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bottle of vanilla he took from the kitchen. He puts some on his fingers and wipes it in his ears. That should keep the gnats out of his ears and the buzzing sounds, too.

He is there. He crouches down and looks at the dark green water. Soon, the minnows come up and swim around right in front of him. He wonders if they are trying to tell him where he is. Is he just below them on in the deep. He must be careful here. At this wide part, the water goes clear to China. His oldest brother told him and he knows that has to be true.

He opens his small rusty tin coffee can and paws around the wet dirt to find his best night crawler. If he is going to catch him, he will have to serve up the Thanksgiving dinner of worms. He finds the one and feeds it onto the hook; his hands turn dirty and wet from the process. He gently dips his hands into the water to clean them. The minnows dart away. A perfect ring starts across the little pond just like a Tsunami going across the ocean.

He looks around for a comfortable, dry place to sit. There is a dry spot with a rock that looks perfect except someone else has found it first. He looks at the bullsnake looking at him. It is about 3 feet long and is no threat. He will let the snake keep his seat and he will take a seat on a dread tree in the other direction.

He swings his pole so the line will land right in the middle of the biggest, deepest part. The weight and hook disappear into the dark and the bobber soons sits motionless on the water. Soon, the glassy look returns. The snake has moved on. A red-winged blackbird chirps a warning. Stay away from the nest, the bird warns. He isn't sure if the warning is for him or the snake.

Then, the bobber comes to life. A ring goes across. Then another one. He can feel it in the pole. His muscles stiffen. How much strength will he need to set the hook and pull this monster out? Will he be too slimy to pick up? Will he get away? He stands up and gets ready to set the hook.

Suddeenly, he hears a car stop on the road behind him. He turns and looks as the driver gets out. His heart is in his throat.

"Buster, you better not be in the mud with those new shoes!"

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Young Josh

He was the first person I saw every morning at HyVee when I went for coffee about five years ago. He and his dad Pat both worked in the HyVee kitchen. Josh was still a young teen. Tall kinda gangly. Ears that stuck out a little. Smile. And great dimples that were always there because Josh had a great smile and personality.

He was a good student, too. Most of his grades were in the A range and some type of advanced education was in his plans. He was going to be a winner. He had all of the characterists of a winner.

Pat moved on to another HyVee store across town and Josh went with him. I stopped at that store a couple of times just to say hello. The instant Josh saw me, the grin and the dimples both started. I took a couple of minutes to chat with him and see how things were going. He was doing fine and liked the new store.

I saw Pat today at the University. Pat works there now. He sat down for a couple of minutes and chatted. It's been a few years so there was some catching up to do. I thought Pat looked a little sad in his eyes. Then he told me about Josh.

Josh started using drugs. He was trying to get free from cocaine and moved back into the family house. He had been going to Southeast Community College. Pat thought he was doing fine.

But clearly he wasn't. Josh took his own life. He was 22. What an awful tragedy. What a God awful trajedy.

Earth Day

I did my part for Earth Day. I got up early and put on my Earth Sandals. (They're the ones that raise your toes and lower your heel and are suppose to make your posture better. Most folks say I look grumpier.)

I took out the garbage in my recycled Wal-Mart plastic bags. I know, paper would be better but Wal-Mart doesn't offer paper bags. I don't think there are a lot of trees in China.

My day was all walking--no biking but all walking so I saved a ton of gas. That was the easy part since I don't have a car.

Which brings me to sacrifice. My Earth Day was better than most but let's face it, I didn't sacrifice much. It's not like Uncle Bill giving the war effort the 1928 Cadillac for the scrap metal drive. It's not like gas rationing. It's not like the Manhattan project. It's not sacrifice. We don't sacrifice today. Americans are "why on Earth are you so fat?"

Fat we are and we act like it. Every person has a car. We still drive everywhere for everything. It doesn't matter how much gas costs.

Now I am not going to jump into the pollution argument. Let the talking heads do that. But I will jump into something else.

Maybe we should try some of the old solutions. Maybe we should try gas rationing. Maybe we should try a new Manhattan Project to create power sources never seen before. Maybe we should invade the caribou in ANWR. Is a caribou more important than one of our 20 something kids slugging it out in Iraq?

I am sure of one thing. We are putting way too much of our precious Earth over the flag-covered caskets of some of our beloved, brightest, and best talent and until we can take care of our own energy needs, we will continue to do that.

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What's in your burka?

Muqtada al-Sadr, I suppose I should call him the "fiery Shiite cleric" since that is his media tag, is a dunce. There, I have said it and for all I know, I may have said it on a Muslim holy day. Bring on the be-headers.

None the less, dunceo isn't thinking through what he could really get done it he were to play along with the US in Iraq. I have a suggestion. Perhaps he could consider it while he sits on some dirt floor and chomps on some goat eyes.

You should become a banker. You should open up a division called, let's see, MuslimOne. You should offer credit cards to every Iraqi who can prove he is getting paid by the US reconstruction. You should advertise on car bombs before they blow up...MuslimOne...What's in your burka?

Once you get all of those followers signed up, then you should start charging them ridiculous fees that can run their cards over the limit and then charge over limit fees and over limit fees. If the government of Iraq is like the government of the US, you won't have to worry. They won't do anything about it.

Before you know it, you will not only be the most powerful goat herder in the Middle East, you will be the richest. Just think about it--tile floors and steak!

Pretty cool idea, huh.

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She won!

I was on the way to the bus when I came across something that made me stop, smile, and dig into my pack and pull out my new digital camera. It was a beautiful spring day outside and the day care center had put full t-shirts on all of the little daycarettes. They were on a mission.

Across the street from them is a new development under construction. Like all developments, God's idea of landscaping is never good enough so we humans have to move his nice earth somewhere else. In this case, the dirt moved to a lowly pile at the end of the new street. A creative teacher at the daycare couldn't resist. (I must say, as a former big-league, go beyond the sandbox guy, it was very tempting for me.) None the less, full t-shirts, hand in hand, stop and looks for cars before crossing, she lead the little tribe of mother-challenged kids to the dirt pile.

And they played King on the Mountain. Take a look at innocence. She won!

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Enough

I admit, I am a news junkie. I watch a lot of FOX except for Hannity and Combs, Greta whatever, and that goofball Nancy Grace. Is she on Fox? Anyway,last night, I finally turned the TV off. Enough of this creature. I won't call him a human being because no one could do what that beast did.

I am sorry for all of that lost potential. I am sorry for those families who must deal with this. I am even sorry for the gun dealer who did things right but still has a gaggle of cameras out in front of his business. Frankly, I wish one of those kids had a gun in his backpack and could have ended this mess right on the spot. Don't kid yourself, this stuff is just warming up. Al-Quida is watching. Hamas is watching. And somewhere in this country,some really screwed-up soul is watching.

But not me. I turned it off. I don't want to hear the creep. I don't want to see the creep. And, I don't want to listen to the creeps who are giving him so much face time and calling that news.

You are just as sick as the creep was.

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Delivering the envelope

I remember the early morning rush to work back in my Remington days in Bridgeport, CT. There was an unusual place along the way where five streets came together not far from the office. One light controlled everything and people were not always the most patient if you lolly-gagged when it was your time to blast though and pick a lane. This was the land of the "horn of plenty."

There was one memorable time where the traffic was backed up as usual, and the light went through one entire cycle without anyone going postal. Nobody honked! There was a reason. Don Imus was telling a joke.

He was the can't miss rage of morning radio. I know because I was listening to him and when he finished, I was howling and so was every other driver I could see. He was the water cooler king in those days.

Frankly, I was amazed with all of the latest. I thought he had moved on to wherever big mouths retire. Becka has taken notice on KFAB and I imagine every "shock-jock" in the country see numbered days ahead.

That was a sad comment about some kids that came out of nowhere and made it to the top of female basketball. Good for them! It's a shame the memory will carry this baggage with it.

It's a shame the black community will move on and take its baggage with it. There, I said it. Take note Snoop. I doubt you would give a *____*. That's the only thing we have it common, pal.

The black community always defends the right to call others in the black community degrading names. When you watch interviews with folks like Snoop, it becomes clear that when he says *N________* and *H__* and *YO B_____* it means something totally different that when Imus says it or any white person says it. Well Snoop and the gang, here is a word we can all use...hypocrite. That one works in any culture. I can't imagine any black dad who loves his daughter not wanting to punch some of these money-grubbing rappers in their loud mouths.

The Rev. Al Sharpton says he is going after them. 'Bout time Al. Hip Hop might be entertaining to some but it's exploitative to most. The streets are full of kids with baggy clothes in expensive sneakers trying to look "hard" as they take their walks to nowhere.

Imus may have accomplished something here that may be the crown jewel of his long shock-jock career. This time, he didn't push the envelope, he may have delivered it. He may have put the spotlight of change on the ugly, degrading mouth regardless of what color it is.

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What ever happened to the FTC?

I can still remember Jack Mitchell's face when he found out about the FTC action against Du Pont over an anti-freeze commercial.

As a rookie Remington Arms Company advertising man, anything that happened to Du Pont, happened to us. Du Pont owned us.

The Federal Trade Commission brought an action against Du Pont because "we" forgot to tell a customer in very large print, that before they put in our anti-freeze, they had to put out their old anti-freeze. If they didn't, crystals could form in the engine and block coolant flow. That would eventually make the engine terminal.

The instructions were on the package but this product was being sold to guys. Guys read small instructions? Not in the FTC's lifetime. After challenging that claim, the lawyers started to challenge every claim.

"I am allegedly Jack Mitchell and I am here to make a point, not in writing, but a point none the less, that all claims must be submitted to the lawyers before we can publish anything!" It was hell for a while but finally, the issue was settled and things moved on.

That doesn't happen anymore. The FTC has gotten old like most of us and has beat most of us in the aging war. It has become toothless. You can tell by what's going on in the banking industry. If you are late on your credit card payment, all credit cards are going to charge you a higher rate. It's there in the fine print and it is called Universal Default. What? I thought when all companies decided to take the same pricing action, that was called price fixing? Pass the mush to the FTC.

Let's not forget, the banking industry has exercised moral oversight of the American checkbook for years. Little by little, they have raised the price for that service. Write a bad check and you pay the bank $35. (They get away with charging these high extortion fees because they know most folks will be to embarrased to raise a stink.) How much did the bank pay us for the bad checks they wrote in 1929; the South American Loan Crisis; the Saving and Loan Crisis; and the mortgage crisis now in the works? Not a cent.

Americans have put up with these well dressed thieves for too long. They have bought our politicians. They have bought the FTC and other similar organizations at the state level.

Maybe it is time for a refund...say a class action suit? They are not any more entitled to collect "morality" fees than Jim and Tammy Baker. Any lawyers out there willing to raise a stink with these thieves?

There Hereeeee!

The gray of the long winter sky is being replaced this evening by the boiling blue sky of spring. It's tornado season!

Actually, tornadoes have occurred in every month except January. But, we are days away from the best part of the year. I am a spotter for the county and when everyone else heads for the basement, I head for the hills--the tops of some of the tallest ones in the county.

If you have learned anything, you probably know it is not a good idea to go to the top of a hill to watch a thunderstorm. They come packaged with lighting and lightning loves high place. I have heard the loud snap of a strike a couple of times so that should tell you I am too close. But, I stay inside the car and hopefully well grounded in my civic hobby.

And I am not alone. There are usually 30 some of us out on 30 some hills talking to a person who is talking to Lancaster Emergency Management. They look for stuff on radar and then we tell them if the stuff is there. The stuff is high winds and of course, rotation, wall clouds, and that little funnel looking thing looking for a place to land and turn into a big thing.

You have no idea how much fun it is to watch that happen.

Yea spring!

Repawed

Yes, the cast is off and the doctor has officially released me in a repawed status. The paw is a little stiff but is handling the keys pretty good right now. Thank God.

This has been a long month. If you take a look at the cast in a post past, you will see it squeezed my little finger into the next door brother. Now that may not seem like a big inconvenience, but on the keyboard, you got ;' instead of ;. My dear ole dad was a two finger typist so he would have gotten along nicely.

Hats off to John Hall and his friendly insurance company! They are paying the hospital bill. I am kind of surprised to be honest. The adjuster was really concerned about how much money I made. When we got by the idea that I was only looking for a little help on the medical bills and not trying to stick John for a settlement, things moved right along. After all, it was an accident. I hated that it happened. I also hated that it happened on a friend's property. If I had seen the ice, maybe none of this would have happened. But, as Dr. Laura likes to say...life happens when you are making other plans.

Indeed it did. But I am on the way back! Thanks John. Thanks cool Dr. Matt. Thanks my best buddy Scott!

Great Speeches by President Hagel

Did you catch the press conference? There were quite a few folks there. Fox cut in live. I imagine CNN did, too. I bet some folks were even sitting on Hagel for President signs. Maybe an NU pep band was in the wings ready to play Hail Varsity. (That's what they play when the real President comes to Nebraska.)

It may have been the most exciting day in Nebraska since word got out that Debra Winger was hanging out in sin in the Governor's Mansion.

But everything fizzled. No memorable speech. No memorable phases. Nothing. What a shame. One can only wonder what times past would have been like with Hagel as President...

"Four score and seven years ago, or maybe eight, I am not sure..."

"Ask not what your country can do for you, well maybe you can ask, I will let you know in a few weeks..."

"The bombing will start in five minutes...well maybe tomorrow...I need some time to talk with some other people, maybe next year..."

He was suppose to split the party right down the middle with an anti-war platform. He was suppose to attract anti-war liberals from the left. CNN's Bill Snyder was really excited.

And so was the crowd. Until Hagel spoke.

Can you imagine someone that decisive with his finger on the nuclear trigger?

Pack up the horns, boys. If there is going to be a strong presidential candidate from Nebraska, my money is on a guy named Nelson.

The Sound of a Super Hero

I would probably be a big 24 fan but there is only one problem. I can't hear it that well. Jack Bauer whispers through most of it. That is just not very super-heroee.

When I was a kid, I could hear The Lone Ranger 20 feet away with part of a peanut butter sandwich stuck in my ear. (We didn't worry about earcoli back then.) But try to listen to Jack. He whispers to Cloe. I can't get by that name either. The Buchanan's fat beagle was named Cloe. Go figure.

I never had a problem with hearing Festus, Matt, Kitty, or Doc. Muley could get a "whad he say?" out of my dad but the others did just fine. If you don't know what show that was, well you just don't know great television.

I don't know if I will ever get into 24 because of the whispering. It doesn't seem fair, does it? Just think where the country would be today if Archie had whispered to Edith?

Target practice

I wish I still had my trusty Remington Model 700 BDL 22-250. I would go out to the country today and do some target practice. I would only need one bullet because the target isn't a paper bullseye, it is my Cingular phone.

Yes, my two year contract with that bunch of liars is over. No more dropped service in the center of Lincoln regardless of what their independent research company says. No more "no service" messages in the back of The Coffee House when my friends are chatting away on their phones.

Just one shot at 50 yards and no more Cingular. No more customer service calls that start with them saying "we apologize." What a sad excuse of a company!

Maybe best of all, they are no more. They are now AT&T again. I say again because I was a fairly satisfied AT&T cell user until Cingular bought AT&T's wireless unit. I inherited bad service through merger.

But I don't have to put up with their bad service anymore! Can you hear the bolt of my 700 opening? Can you see me put the cartridge in? Can you see me close the bolt? Can you see me looking through the scope? Can you see that goofy Cingular logo thing dance on my cell screen?
Can you see my trigger finger gently sqeeze back? Can you say goodbye Cingular?

Just the thought makes me smile!

The writer's nightmare

OK, this is a writer's worst nightmare--next to proofreading. I stopped at John Hall Motors for a friendly visit. It had just finished snowing. There was just a dusting to maybe a half inch of light stuff covering the ground. But, that was just enough to cover some glare ice under it caused from melting the day before and refreezing over night.

I was wearing my trusty Sorell boots. They keep my feet nice and toasty and are generally great in this kind of weather. Unfortunately, they are like a 4x4 truck on glare ice. Worthless.

My right hoof found the ice about the same time my left one did. I went up in the air and broke the fall with my right hand which promptly broke my right wrist. Owie.

I boarded the 4 bus for downtown, stopped at my favorite coffee house for a cup and got a bag of ice from them to put on the wrist. By then, it was time for the 16 bus to come around, pick me up, and drop me at Lincoln General. (That's Bryan West these days but it will always be Lincoln General to me and all fans of Terms of Endearment.)

In and out in 45 minutes. It is a broken wrist and tomorrow I get a cast put on. The forecast is for sleet and freezing rain. That would not be good for a guy who has to walk about a mile and a half to reach the doctor.

This is a writer's nightmare I can assure you. My paw is typing all kinds of crap. Thank God I don't have to use white-out on here.

Here's to you...Dad

My Dad was pretty big stuff in his small Nebraska town. He helped build a golf course out of a country pasture and went on to become the volunteer greens keeper. He turned hard clay into one of the most beautiful courses in Nebraska. Yes, the folks up there remembered him for that and you will find a bust of him out near the first tee.

He was also the mayor for a few years. He was in that post when the streets finally got paved.

But, half of the town remembers him for being the best Catholic a Protestant church ever produced. (Don't get him confused with being a pillar of some church. He wasn't.)

It was back in the 1940's. Dad, unlike me, was a great athlete. In fact, he got a scholarship of some sort to play basketball at Creighton University in Omaha. (That's right, he was a Protestant kid who got a scholarship to play basketball at a Catholic university.)

But times were tough and he came home to help his dad hold on to the Ford garage and one farm to the East of Hartington. The family owned a bunch of farms before the Great Depression but lost them. Yeah, I could have been a cattle baron but alas, my shoes are cleaner and my bank account is much smaller. Can you imagine how much his heart ached at not having a chance to play ball on go on to a bigger life?)

Dad worked in the garage with his brother after grandpa passed away Now, most sons think their dads walk on water and worry that they will never be as good of a man. Mine not only walked on water, he started Global Warming.

He started that walk at then struggling Holy Trinity High School. That little school couldn't afford a basketball coach back in the 40's and the priest asked dad if he could help out for a year. He said he would and kept that promise for 8 years. He never took a cent in salary and I suppose he took plenty of grief from the Protestant community for coaching at a Catholic school and whipping their ass in the county basketball tournament.

I must say, those folks have never forgotten what he did. Right next to his casket was a big spray of red roses from his teams. The priests were part of his funeral service. The Catholic church has honored him several times and have honored us, his family, by including us in those events.

How could a writer worth his salt leave a life like that alone?

Well, I couldn't. It's been a life goal to write something about those basketball years and I finally finished the movie script yesterday. You should know I HATE basketball so this was going to be a major effort on my part. Football was fine, but basketball I never got.

I have already completed a couple of edits and there are a couple more to go and frankly, I love it. It was fun to write. It made me well up inside. It brought tears. And, it brought out some writing that I didn't think I was capable of doing. I think there was some higher intervention here and it went straight to my fingers. What seemed to hit the page bypassed my loathing of the sport. That's the way it was suppose to be.

Normally, once I got in my "writing mode," it would take me a month or so to write something like this. I went start to finish in three days and I am very happy with it.

Yes, I do hope it makes it to the silver screen because my Dad's life was powerful, purposeful, and centered on helping other folks enjoy a better life through athletics.

So, here's to you...Dad. Your story is out there for a bunch of people to see. I hope they get the chance. God bless ya!

My new home gym

I just finished setting up my new home gym. I don't need a treadmill or anything like that because I climb four stories of stairs four times a day and walk 2 miles to catch a variety of buses. Plus, after this ice and snow moves on to a memory, the mountain bike comes out and I will do about 20 miles a day on it.

All I needed was something for the old muscles to keep their tone and bulk up as much as muscles can when you are 60 something. I did some shopping. Scheels was a good place for that. They had all of the nifty machines including Bowflex. That machine impressed me the most so I registered on their website and got the free video. There were plenty of well built people demonstrating their variety of machines and some testimonials from a various assortment of young gorillas about how Bowflex changed their bodies. Indeed it did.

Did I mention I was 60 something?

Now the Bowflex has about a 5 X 5 footprint so I measured. I only had 4 feet available. After all, I was not planning to give up my Marcy situp bench. It has helped me get a stunning 2 pack set of abs! Plus, I am almost back in size 33 X 32 jeans and at my high school weight of 185 pounds. Yes, I am impressed with my progress but there is this little problem of chest sag starting to show up.

Did I mention I was 60 something?

Anyway, I pondered the space issue and pondered the budget issue and then remembered my Dad's home guy. He had the guys cut up a window weight and created the thing he could roll up on a stick and increase his wrist strength. It worked because he was a great golfer right up until the end. He died at 62.

Did I mention I was 60 something?

Anyway, inventory taken, I was off to Wal-Mart for a possible solution. It cost me about $4 and works great! My Marcy situp bench now has a bike tire I cut in half attached to a bathroom plunger handle. (New one not a used one!)

After situps, all I have to do is pull the tire under the Marcy and hook it up to the plunger handle sitting on my chest which is hooked up to the other end of the tire. Push it straight up and presto! resistance and a savings of about $1500.

Now that's not bad for an old goat fighting the inevitable, is it?

I did mention I was 60 somthing, right?

The Good Life?

Frankly, you have to be a bit of a liar to be a great copywriter. That's why I rank myself as just a good one. And here's why.

Back in the agency days, one of our best accounts was the State of Nebraska. The state's slogan for God knows how long is Nebraska...the good life.

On a nice spring day. Ok. On a beautiful fall day. Sure is. On a football Saturday in Lincoln. No doubt. But on a day like today, it really does take a bit of liar to pull that one off.

It's 9 degrees outside and the wind is howling out of the Northwest. There are still hundreds of homes without power from a brutal ice storm of two weeks ago. (Not to worry, though. At least you can put the frozen food out on the porch and it won't thaw. Hell, if grandma kicks the bucket, put her out there, too. You can deal with her later.)

This is the time of year when you wonder about the Indians. How did they survive? I know, the buffalo provided them with dandy heavy robes to keep warm but you have to wonder, did they think this was the "good life?" Maybe they sent smoke signals to the Seminoles asking about short-term teepee reservations near a nice Florida beach.

There really isn't anything good about brutal winds and brutal temperatures. Nebraska is too flat to ski. Only nuts go ice fishing. Any animal with a brain is in some kind of hole. The rest are fattening up for the packing plants.

Only Nebraskans venture out because they absolutely must get to the bar or Wal-Mart. It's an inherited teepee fever syndrome.

Good life? Not for me. Good grief it's cold. Bring on tornado season.

To Learn How To Fly

If you wanted to learn how to fly, Nebraska is the perfect place. No, I am not going to say it will make your flying lessons easier. If you want easy, try Florida or Arizona. Nebraska is the perfect place because of one of the great spirits of the Sioux Indians. It's the North wind.

Nebraska is almost always windy. For a pilot, that means lots of cross controlled cross wind landings and in the early stages, a cross and jumpy instructor. Lincoln has two North | South runways and one Northwest | Southeast runway which should handle almost anything. The only problem with such an arrangement is these runways are in Nebraska and in Nebraska, there is always a swirling crosswind to keep you on your toes. If you can comfortably land a plane in Nebraska, you can land a plane anywhere!

Right now, the wind is steady out of the Northwest about 40 with higher gusts. On down the road a piece, make those gusts about 60. That means an empty semi might be on the road in one minute and on its side in the ditch the next. Toss in a little winter snow and ice and you have a real challenge.

If you are into adventure, why don't you come to Nebraska and learn how to fly? Lindberg did and look how he turned out.

The University of Nebraska fight song starts...there is no place like Nebraska. Maybe the lyrics were written by a pilot who was trying to land here.

Finally

Make no mistake about it. I am a hawk. And the use of the AC-130 gunship in Africa was the right use of US military force. It sent the right message. The target(s) were people who blew up US embassies in Africa. If they were allowed to establish their bases in Somalia, I guarantee it wouldn't be long before some of the stable African governments would end up like Iraq.

Unlike many of the "yaps" you see on television, I lived in Africa. I also have been in other "troubled" parts of the world and I can assure you, many of those places may as well be on the moon. I also believe the Philippines will soon become a a "desired" base of operations for al-Quida. (The officer who got our parking place in Manila died when his car blew up in that spot a few weeks after I left.)

Iraq is a different matter. I hate the moments of silence that end The News Hour on PBS when they show those young soldiers, sailors, and airmen who have died in Iraq. We have blown it big time in that operation. That being said, I am still a hawk about it. The US cannot fight anymore "nice guy" wars. We need to be very hesitant to use our forces but when we do, they have to be unleashed. We won World War II because we used what needed to be used to end it.

I am tired of the loss of young Americans because the military is afraid of what will show up on the evening news. Remove the reporters and get the job done and then bring our kids home.
We wouldn't be sending gunships into Somalia if we had done that in the first place.

The boat

That boat looks like it is in trouble, doesn't it? The waves seem pretty intense and the sky looks threatening. There is a hint of high waves tearing at it if you look close. That boat is in trouble.

Or is it? Actually, that's a tractor in a farm field Southwest of Lincoln and the waves are a couple of small hills covered in soybeans. I took this shot in the middle of a thunderstorm. The wind was howling and I was in the worst spot a storm spotter could be. I was at a point where I was going to take the brunt of this storm--wind, rain, hail, lightning, and maybe a tornado.

In order to get the shot, I had to roll down the window for my trusty Nikon. I snapped a few shots, including this one which showed up on CNN, and pulled the camera back in and tried to roll up the window. The key word is "tried." It would not come up and just about then, hail started to come out of the sky-not from up above but from right to left and I was left. The stones were quarter to golf ball size and they were coming through the open window like practice shots at the flag from Tiger Woods. I just covered my head and took the beating. Soon it was all over and the storm passed. No tornado. Lot's of hail. Damaged fields. And a pretty good picture for the price of a few head dents.

After all, this is Nebraska and no place for the weather faint-of-heart.