Betrayed

103 years. That's how long the Boy Scouts of America fought back against the homosexuals and the like especially during this past year. Naturally, having the kind of the officers at BSA headquarters in Dallas, this generation of leaders, or lack thereof made from grass that blows whatever the wind decides to.

What about all the protests and speakers? The people spoke loud and clear: "Do Not Let In  Homosexuals!" Clearly, the committee didn't listen to the masses.  As a result of this vote, Boy Scouts is going the way of Girl Scouts: You never hear from them 'til it's cookie time, or in the case of the Boy Scouts, popcorn time

I spent my adolescence and my early twenties getting my Eagle award and spending time in two Venture Crews. That's all gone now. As you might have figured, I was brought up to be a Christian, straight young man, and I come from a family that's not afraid to call a spade a  spade. 

 It's not that I hate homosexuals, it's just that I yearn for them to be something more, better even. What Christ designed us to be like; Man and Woman; Boy and Girl; it's just not natural for the same gender to love each other outside of friendly love for them. I guess my expectations were too high, maybe, but not too late.

Hopefully the BSA will see the error of it's ways before they try to vote the adult leaders of the rainbow coalition in. Time will tell.

Rifles, Ramrods and Sore Feet

  I've been waiting on this for a long time for the gun show to hit Houston a few weeks ago, and now, just like steam, it's come and gone. 

 You could stand at one end of the room and not see the other because of the curve of the earth, and that's just how we South westerner's like it. God, guns, and freedom, and not necessarily in that order.

   There were three doors into the building and we were parked across the street entrance F on the very top of the parking garage, so we had plenty of walking to do once the fun was over that night.

  When I finally got inside, we had to stop and register, show our NRA member cards and get special badges showing we were part of said group.

   Next, I nearly fell into the Red Jacket table. You know Red Jacket, from the tv series "Sons of Guns?" I didn't recognize anyone there at first, but then Joe showed up. Remember Joe; 'lead engineer,' soft-spoken, and that red, weird goatee? Yeah, that Joe Meaux. Well he was in and out of that booth 15 seconds or less. By the time I looked from putting my phone into camera mode, he was gone and I never saw him again.

   After that, it was merely a feat to get up and down all those aisles,  distance wise. My dad said that the crowd had really thinned out since he had been there that morning. 

   The second aisle had guns, but I had not pulled my head down out of the clouds; and yes, the lights did seem brighter. My "Visions of Grandeur" were sudden and non-premeditated. I could have turned to God and said: "Howdy, neighbor!"  It was so typical that what brought me back to earth again was, you guessed it, a stock car.Tony Stewart # 14 Bass Pro Shops Toyota to be exact, and other trucks I had only seen in books! That was only at the end of aisle two. I then went up as a balloon again, and didn't come down 'till halfway through the exhibits.

   See, ever since last year in St. Louis, they've planned for Houston to host the annual  NRA gun show in 2013. When I found out about it through the mail, the ad never left my walker, and when the April edition of American Rifleman showed up, well, you know why that was MIA from the collection.

   Every company that makes guns and personal defenses were there, and still there were protesters, well, at least a few of them. At the gunstocks.com booth, Joe Nemechek's # 87 Nationwide Toyota of the same sponsor was there. I did what I had done to Smoke's Toyota, take a barrage of pictures of it. I also stopped at a few rifle and pistol booths of note, well  at least to they were to me. I eventually found a rifle company that let me play with one of their samples. Rifles have not changed very much since the 19th century, so they still have the hand-levers. I believe that I had not shot such a rifle in my life. All I knew is what I learned  from tv. The older the movie, the better the information. 

   We approached halfway through the aisle; going up, going down, down, and up again, seeing history's answer to the gun over the centuries, seeking perfection over the countless decades. My legs and feet were beginning to hurt. They had not walked this far in almost six months. My dad saw I was hanging back due to knee, leg, and foot pain, so he told me to take five while he got some water from the local built-in concession stand. This happened twice.

   All in all, we finished our tour a little after five pm and got ready to see for a "discussion"  or so I thought, with radio host, Glenn Beck. We spent near an hour over dinner we got from a concession stand and arrived  at the "gathering" early. I thought it was a small group but boy was I surprised when there was a live band and over 1000 people there, give or take. They started off with a band from guess where--that's right, Tulsa. One or two were from Texas and my old  stomping grounds. They played old '60's hits in a brand new way, electric guitar. The show was late in starting for a time, and an hours' worth of improv was required. And, when everything was finally already, the entire  NRA staff showed up, one or two at a time, and we're  not talking cookie  crumbs here. This was the yearly staff meeting, which meant serious business.  After the intro to the president, his wife and all the officers with their spouses, the keynote speakers showed up. One did a stand-up comedy routine with voices of U.S.  political presidential figures, well, he might have had Bill's voice too good. Wonder where they were stashing Hillary?

   And then who should show up but Glenn Beck. Yeah, you put together your speeches 20 minutes before curtain. A lot of it's improv, and very good at that!  He started off with Heston's " You'll get my guns out of my cold, dead, hands," and finished by turning it around and saying something like: " Our cold, dead, hands won't win this... But rather a cause to use our hands..." and finally, "We cannot be the generation that loses mankind's freedom." OIBeck occasionally put on some special gloves, and showed  off a rifle that had some mileage on it, say from the Revolutionary War? 

  That made my night. The guy whose books I was reading really did exist in the flesh. Yep, the whole day had been the perfect evening.

I saw this all live

http://m.youtube.com/#/watch?v=XERjumXj1lM

Home

    Home is where the heart is.

    I was born in Tulsa, and yet, for the ten years my grandparents were alive, there was a lot of traveling back and forth up and down I-35, and I passed Moore every..single..time. I used to look down upon the football field on which my father used to play for school. His mother, my grandma, was a cafeteria worker at the same school  now all probably destroyed. 5/20/13, 5/3/99:  EF-5, EF-4, plus another one all in the span of 14 years. It's not for the faint of heart.

     I lived in Oklahoma  for four years, and then we moved to Austin. So why do I care? It's something that's inside you, calling you back, especially if you know the area in question. I even know what the Moore water tower looks like, or rather looked like if the tornado didn't get it. It'll  be 10 years this November since my grandpa died and we regularly went to go see him, but we didn't Moore a second thought. It was simply another exit that had numbers for street names. We had to go through Moore and OKC to get Westbound on I-40 for Yukon.  NE of OKC was Tulsa. All of the boys were born there, my father and mother's dream home was there.

    I went up there for a football game about two falls ago, and the scenery was just as it should have been, but now...

    The people up there aren't stupid, they know what's going to happen. Their jobs force them to live in "Tornado Alley, " so they suck it up and rebuild, and that's why I love the Sooner State.

Let's Do the Car Door Shuffle

Cars. Love em or hate 'em they do help up us get around. Now being shuffled around? Um, yeah. Here's what I mean: We've got six, count 'em, six, VEE-hicles. Two each to my brothers and two to my parents. Let's start with the brother that own the fancy, schmancy Explorer and has a half interest in the Dodge to boot. He's always changing car titles (If we let him) and going to Austin to see his buddies. One thing, though: with all the medical equipment (Two walkers) we have to lug around with us, he gets mean. I guess it's all that customization. In short, Every moment out is pure gold to my mother and I. Dad and Dan share a half interest in the Dodge, last time I checked. The truck was fully dad's, but Dan needed it for some reason, so they went halvsies on the ownership.That, plus more ownership changes from day to day it feels like. My youngest brother drives a nondescript Mustang and a Ford Explorer. He's a down-to-business guy. He's graciously loaned us the use of said Explorer, save dad now has to use it to get back a forth from work each day instead of the truck, which he normally takes. So, now we come to the d3 Jeep. (Dead, died, and decreased) What to do. Part it out, fix it up and sell it, or sell it outright. Our Explorer's up in Austin being repaired by of Daniel's buddies. Still working for the following people: Mom/Dad: The Explorer* Dan: Explorer Matt: Mustang, Explorer * In the shop If you take away the Explorer that's being repaired, have dad take Matt's Explorer each of them have 1 car each, and none for us...yet. Oh, for That new car smell IT MAKES THOSE ALL THOSE CAR LOTS LOOK A LOT LESS ANNOYING

By the Numbers

I screwed up... again. Well, let me start at the beginning. The day before, I had leant over to pick up some wrappers that had fallen out of my trashcan. Well, I apparently I used my knees too much because next thing I hear on my down, was a slight crack in left knee cap. It was "A new experience in pain,"* as it 'twere. I think approaching the top five in my life! Yep, you could say it hurt a little. It landed me in my recliner with a frozen bag of peas on my knee. That was three days ago. Fast forward to the yesterday morning. As I washing my face in the guest restroom, somehow I took out 1/2 the toilet paper hanger, and on my out, I broke the toilet... again! It seemed that I was 'Wreck It Ben,'^ ...literally! Somehow, I landed on the floor, drawers down for the world to see, and then my mom tries to pull me up. Me. A literal "One-eyed fat man."** Gotta love those moms. They'll attempt the impossible for their kids. My little brother was there, and he tried but failed. My knee didn't help any. In fact, it was all I could do to stop from screaming. So they decided, against my will mind you, to call 911. Who knew they had a non-emergency line? So no sirens, but that big, red, truck outside with a diesel engine, and your home draws the neighbors, just gets, oh I'd say, a tad embarrassing if there's no fire to put out. Ah well, such is the life of superstars and stroke patients although more patience is needed for the latter. * M*A*S*H - S.1/ Ep.22 ^ Wreck It Ralph ** True Grit (1969)

Return to Operation Idiot

No, it wasn't me this time. It was my mom. She has the symptoms of Crohne's Disease, and yet, they're not. See, she has rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, back surgery 2 years ago, and neck surgery this summer. Why am I telling you all this? I am trying to get you to see what shape my mom was in. Well, we're getting to be regulars with the EMT staff. Before last Friday, they never even heard of us, but now they have two Jones' in their tally books in less than a week. My mom has to use a walker around the house, and it's got a seat and large wheels. Then, a few nights ago, she was sitting on it feeding the family dog and leaned forward. Now, these brakes on the walker are older than Moses, and they were set, but they were of little use to her in this instance. Well, sir, according to my mom, the walker rolled one way and mom fell the direct opposite. We went into first response mode, well, as far as we dare. She asked for a neck pillow, Sara's (our pooch) footstool, and a towel for her knees. After many failed attempts, we got the bright idea to raise her with a car jack. Something was nagging at me, though. Anyhow, ignoring that feeling, we got that heavy-duty jack ready. I don't think we had enough surface area, 2' squared, for mom. Good thing we didn't have to find out. It was decided upon calling 911; again. After the call, I spent my time nervously awaiting the EMT's, hoping they would be different ones. No such luck. Oh, and that little thing I forgot; sliding a board down mom's back. We had done something like that, only with a sheet or plyboard and it almost worked. The sheet of plywood just needed to be more tough and little longer. We also needed more hands. Due to all her problems she claimed to being "dead weight," but she came up rather easily. One of the EMT's recognized me, and then and there, I knew I was busted. He asked about how many stitches they put in while the female EMT was caught up with our Cockatiels. Looks like the Stooges have made a curtain call.

Operation: Idiot

Okay. So you know that my physical therapy is not completed yet, right? Well, my mom's surgery turned into my dad's emergency surgery. Anywho, here I am in early November when my dad comes home, and late in the evening, when we were all shuffling off to bed, and that meant upstairs for me. I was 3/4 of the way up the stairs when my left big toe hit one of the stair step walls, and I went flying down the stairwell. For a time, I was parallel with the railing, but I just couldn't land it. --> Carpet burns, bad bruises, and lacerations on my knee, and head. Funny thing about the head, it carries a large amount of blood and I found that out as I lie there at the bottom with a 10 in. gash in my cabasa. The gash was so deep that at one point, you could see my skull. You couldn't stop my bleeding and to hold pressure on that wound, would've been impossible to do just from the volume of it. As soon as 911 was dialed, and we, or at least I, Finally, I knew what it was like to have those sirens wailing for someone, anyone but me. I wasn't scared for me, but for my family and neighbors. That ambulance must have woken them up. See, this has not been my first ambulance giddy-up. My first rodeo came in 2006 when I was volunteering for the DRMC or Denton Regional Medical Center. I was stuffing the paper recycler full of soon-to-refurbished-documents and had a grand-mal seizure with all the works. That sucker had to be 3/4 the size of me, and weighed more, but when everything was said and over with, the paper recycler was on it's side, and me with it. I had tackled it. I had also received 2-3" cut on my hand. I was epileptic, and that was all the excuse they needed to drag out the ambulance. Imagine: taking me from a medical building (already connected to the hospital) 300 ft to ER, who, bty, merely dressed my hand and dismissed me. The price of insurance! Back to the subject at hand, my fall last week, which was much worse than in 2006. As the paramedics hauled my sorry carcass out the front door, all I could see was up. That was partly due to the neck and head brace they'd put on me. So I saw a new side of things that day. The ambulance transported me across the main road to the soccer field just in front of the house. It all took place in the parking lot; a transfer from ambulance to chopper. My first. In order not to screw this one up as well, I let the nurses on board do their business i.e. temp, bp, multiple blood draws and sticks. 10-15 min later we arrived at the hospital the paramedics recommended, and they rushed me into an ER room. It is weird how the ceiling of my room looked like a real surgery room (don't ask). I don't know how long we waited, but eventually, they took me in for x-rays, and a cat scan. It was about 4:30-5 in the cock a doodle when I was released from my headgear, and was able to get a doctor to get stitched, sutured, and sewn up. 20 stitches and 1 suture later, I was released. So with that finally accomplished, it was 6 in the am, we had all missed out on good night's sleep, and maybe just a tad bit cranky? All that drama for nothing? Sounds like a really, bad movie; say, maybe the Three Stooges could pull it off. They usually play idiots.