The Man in the Grey Bogart Hat

Hello- It's me
Hello-I'm back again
Hello-Did you miss me?
Hello-I missed you -terribly

The flight went on and on from LA.
The starry night sky lit the way
from Singapore to Hong Kong.
My famous blue dress a beacon for
the man in the grey Bogart hat.
Thought I lost him... imagine that.

Followed me to Bangkok,
got off the plane- what a shock,
there he was at the baggage claim,
steel blue eyes, sinister and wild.
The man in the grey Bogart hat,
thought I lost him... imagine that.

Flashing lights, pretty streets,
surging crowds in the summer heat.
Can't escape, nowhere to go.
Made the contact with seconds to spare.
The man in the grey Bogart hat.
Finally lost him... imagine that.

Chocolate From Mars

They climbed upon a hill,
looking down into the valley below.

The sun was setting, time stood still...
the sky blue and apricot.

A warm scented breeze,
their thoughts turning inward.

When the time comes,
be there with me.

Hold my hand, just hold my hand,
and...

Give me chocolate from Mars...
chocolate from Mars...

Give me chocolate from Mars...
chocolate from Mars.

Francois and Catherine

She always liked doors to be opened for her,
never knowing why.

It's always been that way. Her way of life was something to get used to.

Orange blossoms and petitgrain,
fine silk and embroidery.

Do you love me... love me ... love me...
do you love me... love me... love me still?

Never on time, always late for the big show.
She said she couldn't imagine why all the fuss.

Peaceful and calm, always cool and never resentful.

Orange blossoms and petitgrain,
fine silk and embroidery.

Do you love me... love me ... love me...
do you love me... love me... love me still?

She loved him near and far and always and everywhere.
Never one to doubt,
but love made her uneasy.

She couldn't allow herself that peace of mind.

Orange blossoms and petitgrain,
fine silk and embroidery.

Do you love me... love me... love me...
do you love me...love me... love me still?

Yes, I love you ... love you... love you...
yes I love you... love you... love you still.

VICIM

Near, where I live, is a strip mall.
Behind the strip mall,
near the dumpsters overflowing with trash
and garbage, is a
thicket.
In this thicket, the homeless go to sleep
and drink and do drugs.

In this thicket is a tree.
Someone has painted
the letters VICIM
on the tree trunk.
Vertically.
Each time I walk by,
I wonder what those
letters could stand for.

One day, I decided to
do a Google search.
VICIM is a city in Poland.
VICIM stands for-----
Virtual
Institute for
Chemometrics and
Industrial
Metrology
I have no idea
what that means.
VICIM is also a company
that sells innovative
mouldings.
There's a Portuguese
blogger named
VICIM.
There's a Romanian
company named VICIM
International SRL.
I have no idea what
they do.
I don't speak Romanian.

Then---I started to
think about it differently.
What if...
the person who wrote
those letters...
What if they merely
misspelled--- VICTIM...?

Roofers

Someone is getting a new roof in my
neighborhood.
The roofers seem happy.
They shout at one
another,
sing their songs and whistling too,
all in a language,
I don't understand.
They seem happy.
Is it because they
are high above the
rest of us?
Closer to heaven?
happy to have the work?
Have a job?
They seem happy.
With their snap, snap, snap...
and pop, pop, pop of
their nail guns.
They seem happy.

My Jacket

I like my jacket.
It's made out of wool.
"Dyed"
"Spun"
"Handwoven and finished
in the Outer Hebrides of
Scotland"
That's on the label
inside the jacket.
"Harris Tweed"
"Handwoven"
"100% Pure Scottish Wool"
That's there too!
Serial number 923064
"Tailored in the USA"

It's soft, comfortable and warm.
Small check pattern.
Mostly grey, with blue
and some green.
Mostly blue and grey.
It has a rip by the
right hand pocket.
How it got there,
I don't know.
I don't care.
It adds character.
My father liked wool
too.
He said it will keep
you warm, even if it
gets wet.
I like that.
I paid $3 for it at
the Thrift Shop.

A Summer reading opportunity

I've finished a novel and some short stories since my last blog entry. I'd like to share them with you. All you need to do is leave a comment here with your email address and I'll send a link you can click on and read them. It's that simple. Don't worry, no spam. I'm not trying to sell anything. Just want people to read them and give me feedback. I'll list the titles and a brief synopsis and you can choose one or all of them. Thanks.

Wonderland--- a novel set in the near future that questions what it means to be human.

A Broken Heart--- a short story about love and being careful about what you wish for.

John and Sharon--- a short story about enduring love and commitment.

Let me know what you think.
Stay tuned.

Brooklyn Baby

This is the original first two pages from my second book titled..."Lionhearts". Although I liked it quite a lot, I felt it didn't tie in with the rest of the story so well. As a consequence, I edited it out. It's kind of like a mini short story in it's own right, I think. I hope you like it.

The music drifted around the room as Beth Turner hurriedly packed her belongings. The bedroom was in disarray, with boxes and bags of books and clothing scattered throughout.The early morning sunlight filtered through the partially opened curtains, highlighting dust particles in the air. She knew this day was coming and planned her getaway to coincide with him being away.

Him was Peter Channing. Beth's boyfriend for the past two years. They had shared this apartment on W. 70th Street in Manhattan, for almost a year. It was time for her to move on. They had grown apart, she thought. He was gone so often, they had hardly spoken to each other in the last two weeks as it was. Absence was not making the heart grow fonder. On the contrary, she saw things much clearer now and realized their relationship was not working. Her younger sister, Stacy, had invited Beth to live with her until she got on her feet again. She accepted and now was waiting for Stacy and her boyfriend to come by and make the move final.

"You going to take that picture?" asked Stacy, pointing to a rather large photograph of the Grand Canyon on the living room wall.

"I don't think so. It's Peter's and I think he would be upset if I took it." replied Beth.

"So who cares. You've always liked it. I'm just saying he owes you something. Just take it. He can have another made. God Beth, quit being so uptight."

"I don't think so..."

"Ryan... come lift this picture off the wall and put it in the truck, will ya?" Ryan walked up to the picture and started to pick it up.

"Uh, hey, I'm going to need some help over here, you guys. This son of a bitch is heavy."

"Honestly, you're such a weakling, Ryan." Stacy walked up to Ryan to give him a hand. "It's just awkward, that's all."

"Stacy... oh never mind." Beth said, as they hauled the picture out the door and down the hall.


Beth looked around the room for the last time. So many memories. Some good, some bad. It had all started so hopeful and this is how it ends, she thought. Escaping like thieves in the night. She figured she should write a note or something. She at least owed him that.

She sat down at the kitchen table, pen in hand. The late morning summer sun poured through the window, warming her face. But what to say? All she could think to say was, that she was sorry. On a sheet of paper, that she left in the middle of the table, she wrote... 'I'm sorry'. And left it at that.


Here's a hint... the music 'drifting around the room' is Lana Del Rey's "Brooklyn Baby". Check it out. Play it while reading the story for a complete experience.

Stay tuned.

Why I write

 A great quote from Gustave Flaubert---

"It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating. Today, for instance, as man and woman, both lover and mistress, I rode in a forest on an autumn afternoon under the yellow leaves, and I was also the horses, the leaves, the wind, the words my people uttered, even the red sun that made them almost close their love-drowned eyes. When I brood over these marvelous pleasures I have enjoyed, I would be tempted to offer God a prayer of thanks if I knew He could hear me. Praised may He be for not creating me a cotton merchant, a vaudevillian or a wit."

Announcement

As you can see, I have changed the title to my blog to reflect the new direction I will be taking. I have not been writing much on the blog, lately, because I've been writing fiction for the past year. I've written first drafts for two novels. I hope to have them published, eventually. Whether by the traditional route or self publishing, I haven't decided yet.

So with this "new direction", I will be more attentive to creating content for the blog as a way of keeping my creativity going. Look for the usual memoir stories now and again. I've got lots more to share. Also, I intend to share story ideas of fiction works in progress. Maybe even a snippet or two of my novels I've written or am in the middle of writing. Could be exciting. Also I'm thinking of doing reviews of books, movies and music that I've encountered along the way. More excitement. As always, you know the drill, stay tuned!

How I Saved Sears from Bankruptcy

Okay, maybe that's a little hyperbolic, but maybe not. I was in my local Sears store at the mall and as I was walking out, I noticed a spill of some substance that looked suspiciously like a milk shake. Right on the aisle way. Enough was spilled that if you weren't careful, you could easily have slipped on it with disastrous results. Especially considering all the metal and hard wood display equipment around. The resultant lawsuit, I argue, could put Sears over the top into bankruptcy, considering how poorly they've been doing financially lately. As I walked around trying to find an employee to warn them of the situation, I was amazed to find that there seemed to be hardly anyone working there. I counted three sales people working at registers and all of them busy at the moment. I waited patiently until the one was free to let her know of the spill, keeping an eye on the spill so no one would slip on it. She then told me she would call for a manager. I left thinking that I had done my good deed for the day and that maybe I just saved Sears from a fate worse than death-bankruptcy. Or maybe not. Also- was she calling the manager in the store somewhere or was she calling the manager at home?

I saw The Yardbirds at the Grande Ballroom or That's Not Jeff Beck!

Ok it's 1968. Detroit Michigan. It's May 3rd. I'm standing outside the Grande Ballroom ( we pronounced it Grandee ) looking at a playbill for the evenings performance that I had eagerly awaited. The Yardbirds! with special guests The Frost and some other group. But I was there to see The Yardbirds - one of my favorite groups. They were one of my favorite groups because Jeff Beck was their lead guitarist. I thought he was and still do the greatest guitarist around. So as I stood looking at the poster of a man with back lit frizzed out Bob Dylan/Jimi Hendrix hair I thought to myself which Yardbird is that? Well, it wasn't Keith Relf. Nor was it Chris Dreja. Could have been Jim McCarty maybe. Why would they use a picture of the drummer to represent the group though? That's how my mind worked in those younger days. Let's see who's left. Paul Samwell-Smith the bass player. Nah that wasn't him either. That left Jeff Beck. Well that's not Jeff Beck- the nose is all wrong. Hmm.  A side note. You have to understand the era. This was 1968. Even though the computer had been invented there was no Google or You Tube or any kind of instant communication to keep up with the news in the music business. Sure there were magazines about rock and roll but mostly teenybopper stuff. And it was all 3 months behind the actual happenings. So I had no idea of the personnel changes within the group. Anyway I'm in the Ballroom and what a time we had. Smoke, incense, purple haze and strobe lights. Darkened hallways, paisley, bellbottoms- man this was really the 60's wasn't it?  Suddenly The Yardbirds are on stage. Wait there are only 4 of them. What's going on? Yes Keith is still the singer/harmonica player. There's Jim on the drums but Chris is playing the bass? And wait a minute whose that playing guitar? That's not Jeff Beck! No it wasn't at all. But -- oh man I'll tell you what-- whoever it was sure knew how to play guitar! An amazing performance by the group. Although you could tell things were not quite right. Sometimes they looked a little tired to me. Keith sounded a little morose with the in between songs chatter. All in all  I left the building happy but wondering who that new guitarist was. It took some months later but I read that the young man's name was Jimmy Page! Of course later that year saw the birth of The New Yardbirds/ Led Zeppelin group. As much as I love Jeff Beck I have to admit it was Jimmy Page who inspired me to learn to play the guitar and his performance that night was spectacular. Stay Tuned.

Nothing Lasts Forever

Well it's been awhile since my last entry. New projects to work on, hard drive crashed you know things like that. No seriously I'm in a band now playing the guitar. Lotsa fun. We did Christmas -Holiday music in December. Of course I had to learn all the music most of which was on an acoustic guitar. I realized that it's a different technique than electric which I'm more used to. Still it was lots of fun. We are now rehearsing for more mainstream music in the lounge style or Mad Men tv show 60's style. Still more fun. Don't know if I can take all this fun. But I bet I can! Seriously my hard drive crashed did I say?  Yep last November it went kaput. My other hobby/profession is as a photographer and I had over a thousand photos on my hard drive. Well that's no problem Dave you say, surely you had them all backed up on an external hard drive, right? Right?   Well I took my iMac down to the mall where they have an Apple Store to get it checked out. They got this thing there called a genius bar. Not sure what that is supposed to mean. They had all these nerdy looking people behind it who I guess looked like geniuses. One of them told me he couldn't find anything on my hard drive. Like it was wiped clean. But not to fear there were people that could resurrect any lost data. For a price. Well I took it there and they did indeed find everything. Yes sir everything but my pictures. Very strange they said. You did they said back everything up on an external hard drive -right? Well- yes I did. Then just bring that in and we'll transfer everything to your new hard drive. I did and they did. Except there were no pictures there either. Curiouser and curiouser. So after much more work on my computer the bottom line is I lost those thousand plus pictures. A whole years worth of hard work in the fields literally so to speak. Flowers -remember. Anyway I've since been told by various people that all might not be lost yet. They could still yet be found if I just let them look at it. So we have our projects this Winter. You know really- this computer is only 4 years old. I told the genius guy that and said I thought these things last forever. He looked at me and smiled with a genius smile and said -"nothing lasts forever". Tell me about it--my brother who is 3 years younger just had his 2nd hip replaced. Jeesh.
Stay tuned.

"Drink lots of water"

I always wondered what a professional massage would be like so one time when a local masseuse had a sale I took advantage of one. Of course up till then I had friends and family practice on me to varying degrees of success but I was always curious what the real deal would be like. So it was with some excitement that I went one cold winter day to have a genuine massage.
I arrived on time and was led to a darkened room by a receptionist. The masseuse was a rather tall woman with exceptional muscle development. She instructed me to remove as much clothing as I was comfortable with. I asked what was usual for this and she said most people stripped down to their underwear and covered themselves with the blanket on the table. She left the room and so I disrobed and lay on the table with the blanket covering me. After a while she came back in and told me to lay on my stomach. She spent the next several minutes walking around the table poking and prodding various spots on my body. I thought this was unusual but I had never had a professional massage before so I had no idea. After a few moments she asked me what areas I would like to have work done on. Well I said my shoulders are always tense the back near my neck seemed tight and also my calves were always tightening up-- Stop she said. I could spend the whole hour on just one of your calves you are in terrible shape. What would you like me to do?  I was nonplussed. I don't know I said just do what you think would be good. So she spent the entire hour going from one spot to the next doing a little bit here and there. This was a deep tissue massage which I had no idea what that was. I found out. This was not my idea of a massage where you end up all relaxed. It felt like she beat the stuffing out of me. She left the room so I could dress. I felt woozy like I just went 15 rounds with her and lost. My muscles ached I felt worse than when I came. She entered the room and told me that to get me in normal shape I would have to come 3 times a week for a month and then taper off to once a week for several months and then at that point all I would need to do is come when needed. This would cost a fortune I thought. How did I ever get in such bad shape I wondered. As  I contemplated this staggering to the door she spoke in a stern voice. Now don't forget drink lots of water. What ? She repeated drink lots of water. I just released  a lot of toxins into your system that you need to flush out. If you don't you can damage your kidneys. Great! Not only do I ache all over and walk with a limp I never had but now I have to worry about drinking enough water so I don't get kidney damage. Wonderful. I never went back.
Stay tuned.

Rawhide!

Every year about this time I get a little nostalgic about my high school days. The leaves start to change the nights are a little cooler shadows longer -it's autumn. So naturally I think back to those yesterdays of youth and my schooling. My parents decided to send us kids to college prep school. I was the first being the oldest. Our public school system although I'm sure was fine was very crowded with all us baby boomers. In fact so crowded that they had to go to half day sessions for all the students. So my parents made the big sacrifice in terms of money to send us to private Catholic prep schools.
In order to get in to these schools you had to take an entrance test in eighth grade. Well wouldn't you know the day of the test I came down with the flu. 103 temperature and all the aches and pains. Plus the nuns explained we had to list 3 schools we wanted the scores to be sent to. I only had 2. But you must have 3 they said. So I picked the first school from the list to make my third choice. I had no idea where that school was but I had 3 listed so the nuns were happy. The first school I chose was too crowded the next would only take you if you played a musical instrument or sports so that left the third. Of course I was selected there. We figured out where it was and I showed up for class for my first day. By the way it was all boys and you had to wear a sport coat and tie every day. Oh joy.
Well things went smoothly for the morning until it was lunch time. We were told to stand in the hallway outside the cafeteria. No sooner had we arrived but down the hall strode a middle aged Jesuit priest with a bullwhip in his hand. A real one not some imitation one from a dude ranch. And boy did he know how to use it. Craaack! "Get in line against the wall-now!" he shouted. There wasn't a word spoken as we slammed our bodies up against the wall. What kind of school is this I'm sure we all thought. I'm sure just the impression he had sought to give us 14 year old boys.
There wasn't a day that went by that we didn't see him walking down the hall bullwhip in hand. The school disciplinarian cracking the whip. Only later did we find out that it was just for the Freshmen class this show of authority. So we wouldn't get off on the wrong foot as far as who was the boss around there. Remember all boys -no girls- things got rough once in a while especially by senior year. But that's another story. Until then --RAWHIDE--
Stay tuned.

Now that's Italian!

I've always liked Italian cuisine especially pasta. So it was quite a wrench to make the decision to go gluten free 10 years ago. At home I could always make myself the various gluten free pastas that were available some better than others none as good as the real stuff however. But to eat out at favorite restaurants was a nightmare. No one served gluten free. Still I was determined to stay gluten free for my health. Then one day Laurie asked me to take her to her favorite Italian place called Paesanos. I looked at the menu and wept. All these great dishes with pasta. I settled for a salad. It was actually very good and I enjoyed a nice glass of wine with it. So it wasn't all bad. So when the next craving for something Italian came up I mentioned let's go to Paesanos again. This time the waitperson asked why just a salad. I explained my situation to her and she said she would talk to the owner about my problem. A few minutes later the owner came to our table and I explained that I'm gluten free. He wanted to know more about it and I told him in some detail. He asked if there were any alternatives to gluten pasta and I told him what was available. He asked where one could find these products. I told him most grocery stores in the area had a selection of them. He told me to choose any of the pasta dishes I would like for dinner and that he would personally go to the nearest grocery store to get some gluten free pasta. I was shocked! So I ordered one.
Well we had soup and salad and Laurie's dinner came and I told her go ahead don't bother to wait for me. It wasn't long after that when the owner comes to our table with an apron on and my gluten free pasta dish in his hands. He told me he went to the store and bought Quinoa  pasta, cooked it himself and now wanted me to enjoy and to let him know what I thought of it. Let me tell you -it was wonderful. He told me that he would continue to carry the gluten free pasta so that I and others like me would be able to enjoy their great pasta dishes and not be limited to just salads. Now that's what I call great service. Paesanos has been and still is my favorite place to eat out. Laurie and I would go there for our New Year's eve dinners also. And they now carry gluten free bread that they bake at the restaurant and gluten free Tiramisu for dessert! Now that's Italian!
PS  Rice is the best grain for gluten free pasta I've found.
Stay tuned.

And Leo was his name-o

I once knew a guy and Leo was his name-o. L-E-O, L-E-O and Leo was his name-o. Yes Leo. Where would we be in this world without the Leo's for existential entertainment-o. I lived with Leo in a house with 3 or 4 other guys in the winter of 1976-77. It was the best of times it was the worst of times. No job couldn't find work living with my brother Jim and guys I grew up with. Gary, our neighborhood buddy we grew up with, owned the house. Leo rented a room as did my brother. I shared Jim's room till I hopefully could find work and I could be on my own.
In order to save money I stopped eating meat. I studied up on becoming a vegetarian. Combining different food groups to maximize proteins and so forth. One day Leo came home from work got out the biggest pot we had and threw in a huge root vegetable of some kind as big as your head huge. It might have been a rutabaga I don't know it sounds good though. He then filled the pot with water. I asked him what he was doing. He said that was going to be his dinner. Your dinner? Yes he said my dinner because he was going to be a vegetarian now too! I said Leo vegetarians eat more than just vegetables you know. No they don't he said and reached for a beer. And Leo was his name -o.
Speaking of beer Leo was very fond of it. We had no TV so the evenings entertainment usually consisted of sitting in the living room drinking beer and listening to music. Toward the end of the evening Leo would be sitting on the floor with his back up against the couch nodding off. His half full bottle of beer sitting next to him. He would catch himself falling asleep and spaz out jerking his arms and legs and always knocking over his beer spilling it all over the carpet. Since we were all responsible for cleaning up our own messes Leo would slowly get up walk to the kitchen to get a towel to throw down at the beer mess on the floor. He wouldn't actually clean it just throw a towel down at it. Night after night this happened. Gary would eventually have to clean the entire carpet. And Leo was his name-o.
Leo didn't have a car. But we only lived about a mile from where he worked. Still he took a cab every morning at 6:00 am. He would call the cab company then eat breakfast and fix his lunch for work and by that time the cab was there. The cab would arrive honk the horn and Leo would go to work. There were many mornings when that didn't always work out as planned. The cab wouldn't come when Leo thought it should so he called for another. The original cab would invariably come a minute later Leo would leave and then about 20 minutes later the second cab would arrive honking the horn constantly in hopes Leo would hear and come out. But Leo wasn't there and the honking would continue for 5-10 minutes waking everyone in the neighborhood. And Leo was his name-o.
Every Saturday morning I would be awakened to the sounds of arguing from Jim and Leo. It would progressively get worse until fists started flying and next thing I knew they would be rolling down the stairs locked in mortal combat. This happened like clockwork the same time every Saturday morning without fail. I asked Jim once why this would happen. He said Leo was being a hose head and needed his i dotted. And Leo was his name-o.
Once one cold wintry night, late, no music just us all sitting around staring at the roaring fire in the fireplace, Leo in the back sitting on the couch for once, we got totally mesmerized. Watching the fire dance and crackle and pop. You know how it is late at night keeping warm by the fire almost like being on a camp-out -then suddenly a big pop and crackle and a cinder flew out the size of a large walnut glowing golden red right in our midst on the carpet! We just sat there frozen not knowing what to do. Then from the back on the couch Leo slowly gets up walks up to the cinder picks it up with his bare hand and calmly walks over to the fireplace and drops it in.  We looked at Leo in shocked amazement! Leo we said didn't that burn and hurt? It sure did he said and sat back down on the couch. And Leo was his name-o.
We had other forms of entertainment. We played ping pong in the basement. One Friday night I was playing against Jim and Leo was sitting on the stair steps waiting for his turn.  Gary came home from shopping for a corded circular saw. Oh boy he said I can't wait to try this out tomorrow morning. Now Leo I don't want you to be messing around with this I just bought it. He set it down and went upstairs to have dinner. We continued to play with Leo watching. After awhile  Leo looks over to the new saw and says I wonder what this is like walking over to it. Jim and I looked at each other -Leo, Gary said not to touch it he was going to open it tomorrow morning. I just want to see what it looks like. Jim and I continue to play. There was no stopping Leo once he got something in his head. He opened the box took the saw out and plugged it in. I wonder how well this cuts. Leo! put that down we said! But Leo found a 2x4 and started to cut it. He started to cut the wood--bzzz then nothing! We looked over to Leo and Leo looked at us. He had cut right through the electrical cord on the first cut! Oh No!! Leo started to look around. What to do what to do. He carefully repacked the saw including the severed cord back into the box. Then he looked around for a place to hide it. Why hide it? So Gary wouldn't find it he said.
The next morning Jim and I were playing again with Leo watching. Gary comes down the stairs all bright and cheerful wanting to play with his new toy. Leo sees him and starts to take off up the stairs. Gary is looking around for his saw but can't find it. Where's my saw? he says. Jim and I say nothing. Eventually he finds it opens the box and comes over to us with the saw in one hand and the severed cord in the other. LEO!!!! And takes off running up the stairs. And Leo was his name-o. L-E-O, L-E-O and Leo was his name-o!
Stay tuned.

Computers and Me

Computers and me go way back. I started studying them in 1967. My freshman year at the University of Detroit. They were as mysterious then as they still are today. I don't know why. Of course our computer back then was the whole first floor of the Admin building. It was huge. And hot. You have to remember back then transistors were not readily available so they used vacuum tubes. Like they used in old radios and TV sets. I don't know do some of you even remember them? Musicians especially guitarists know about tubes in their amps. Anyway the whole room was always very hot like 90 degrees or something even with a/c and fans running constantly.
We were told that computers were what the future was going to be all about. We knew that. In sixth grade we were told that by the year 2000 we would all have flying cars to go to work in too. I'm lucky if I can afford to put gas in my car today. I guess some things were more important than others. Now we were learning how to program this monster. There was no monitor. We programmed it by keypunching on cards. That means we had to learn the computer languages we needed for the type of program we were running. COBOL, BASIC, FORTRAN etc. To run the simplest program required hundreds of these punch cards. They had to be in exact order. If even one card was out of order your program would "bomb out". You would actually get a printout of a huge picture of a bomb as an error message. This was a most horrendous occurrence. Especially if it was an assignment that was due that day. You were in trouble. That meant you had to go through hundreds of keypunch cards to find which one was out of order. Or worse maybe you program was not logically well written. Yikes. If a card was out of place I never would go through all those cards. It was quicker just to re punch all of them! Tedious I know. And talk about wasting paper!
So down through the years I've taken many courses in computer training. Some on my own and some at the university level. I always ace these courses. So why is it that I'm so conflicted using them to this day? If the power goes out suddenly I do know how to turn the computer back on. But as far as unleashing the full potential of this beast I'm totally clueless. I mean I do still shave with a brush and double edge blade in a razor that was made during the war. That would be the Second World War. I don't know if that completely explains it though. It might have something to do with that time during my Freshman year that my buddies and I decided to try out this new thing called computer dating! Now there's the ticket! Just fill out the 10 page questionnaire of who you really are- your likes dislikes etc. and let the computer match you up with your perfect date! It's scientific! God knows we weren't doing so well at all the mixers we went to. So it couldn't hurt.
Two weeks later we were all excited to get our results. I just wish I could remember all the details. I know I asked a young lady out on a date. What her name was I can't remember. Where we went to I don't know. How it ended -blank. All I remember was that we had absolutely nothing in common -she wasn't at all like she was described as. That's it- we had a terrible time. It's all coming back to me now.
My buddies all had similar experiences. The whole idea of computers deciding something so personal as someone to date just seemed not right not organic enough. We decided that maybe the mixers weren't that bad after all and besides the music was usually good. I guess I just don't trust computers. It's all that garbage in garbage out stuff. 
Stay tuned.

I saw the Who at Southfield High School

I sure did. The day was Wednesday November 22, 1967. It was a spur of the moment thing. I saw an ad in the paper and decided to go. By myself. I was 17 and a big fan of the Who. I got to the Southfield High parking lot early I guess because there was hardly anybody there. Anyway I went into the gymnasium were the concert was to be held if you can believe that and sat down on the bleachers. By the way the tickets for general admission were $2.50. Boy times have changed haven't they? The gym slowly filled up I guess there were maybe a thousand people total. First time I ever saw real hippies. There were 2 acts before the Who. The first was the Unrelated Segments a local Detroit band. As I recall I used to see them a lot at the college I went to. The were pretty decent as I recall. The second act was a group that played the Detroit area also and had a hit played on the radio quite a bit. They were called Amboy Dukes. They had this crazy guitarist that played a huge hollow body Gibson Byrdland with a 100 ft. lead on it so he could go out into the audience and cause a ruckus. I remember thinking that this guy is quite the showman and might give Pete Townsend a run for his money. Oh his name-that would be Ted Nugent.
Well then it was time for the Who to come on. The curtain was closed and there were 2 microphone stands alone on stage. I thought there was going to be some kind of dramatic entrance. No they merely walked up the steps at the side of the stage just like you were going to get your diploma. Keith Moon was last and he was carrying a big bundle of drum sticks under his arm. Why was he carrying all those sticks I wondered. I didn't have to wonder too long because the curtain parted they strapped on their guitars and Keith sat down at the drums and started to play" Can't Explain". Well I think it was the first time Keith did a 16th drum fill on the opening bar that he splintered a stick way out into the audience. All he did was reach down to the bundle and pick another one and not even miss a beat. Amazing. I think he must have broke half a dozen sticks that first song. He was on fire that night. They played several more songs that show and ended with the perennial "My Generation". Here it comes I thought --will they or won't they trash their instruments here in the High School gym. I mean I was sitting next to an elderly lady looking as old as my Grandmother for crying out loud. Well they did. In grand fashion. Pete had been playing a Fender Stratocaster all evening and right at the crucial moment  a roadie behind his speaker cabinet switched guitars to a cheaper copy to smash. And smash he did. He flipped it up in the air and caught it- banged it against the speaker cabs flipped it again but missed and it landed on the stage. Then he proceeded to smash the guitar neck first into the stage floor repeatedly until there was just splinters. I remember looking around at all the parents in the audience to see their shocked expressions. But was it for the smashing of the guitar or the pounding of it into the gym's stage floor? I've been told the dents are still there. I looked at my watch-they played exactly 30 minutes.
Stay tuned.

Fore!

Ah the gentlemanly art of golf. Many books have been written on the subject and for good reason. It's a very polarizing topic. You either hate golf or love it. There's no in between. I on the other hand am going to approach the subject from an entirely different angle. You see I was a caddy. It was my very first job. This was at the Detroit Country Club. I know the concept of Detroit and country club sound foreign maybe today but this was early 1966 and the Motor City was a very happening place. The Ford family golfed there as well as many other movers and shakers back in the day.
Caddying didn't pay very much. It depended on whether you got out or not. There were some days I don't think I carried a bag at all. Twelve hours of nothing but watching TV or shooting baskets in the backyard. On those occasions I did carry all I made was about $3-4 including the tip which was about a quarter. Some of the little old ladies tipped a dime! But it was my first job.
Speaking of little old ladies one time I was caddying for this woman who took forever off the tee. She always played last and I wanted to get a head start to the next hole so I would start walking slowly ahead at an angle to her so as not to get hit if she sliced. Well this one time she was taking forever and I'm slowing walking saying to myself come on just hit it already. No go still at the tee. I wanted to get a head start because the golfers were driving carts and the caddies had to walk and invariably they would complain if you weren't there when they were. Anyway I'm getting ahead of her now and the angle is getting less and less me being more in the line of fire if she doesn't hit it soon. Finally she swings and sure enough swoosh right by my nose less than a foot away. I secretly think she planned it that way just to keep me on my toes.
I don't understand why more people aren't hit on the golf course. I was standing on the green holding the pin with my back to the tee my heel on the edge of a sand trap. The next thing I know I hear a thud behind me. I look around and there's a ball an inch behind my heel. Some golfer was antsy and teed off without waiting for our party to leave. "Fore"
By the way Henry Ford II tipped $5.00!
Stay tuned.