The Road Less Traveled

Formal education will make you a living; self-education will make you a fortune. – Jim Rohn.

Right and I am a self-made millionaire – wrong! I like the sound of Mr. Rohn’s statement though because it gives validity to me wasting my high school years on party, pleasure and hot rods instead of buckling down and learning something of value. I am sure there are some self-made gazillionaires out there who don’t even have a high school education, but they are far and few between like lottery winners. As my mother-in-law says about me playing the lotto, “How’s that working out for you?” Sometimes she really pisses me off! Unfortunately, she is right as rain and it isn’t working out worth a poop.

When my mother reached thirty she said the hell with working as a construction secretary for our stepfather for the rest of her life. At the time she didn’t even have a high school education, but that was about to change. She went on after getting her GED to receive a Bachelor of Science degree and then a Master’s in music education and ended up teaching in the same junior high school she had graduated from years before.

I was so proud of her, but I was making a ton of money in construction and just knew I would be a successful contractor someday. What I didn’t know was that being successful also meant being responsible for my actions. I worked hard and drank hard. When I wasn’t working I was spending all my money on partying and not worrying about tomorrow, let alone next week. This was not the formula to the success I envisioned.

It wasn’t until I reached forty that I started realizing that had I put the money wasted on booze into an interest bearing account I could have retired to Hawaii. Instead, I just helped make bar owners wealthy and me poor. It was at this time I also said the hell with working my butt off swinging a hammer and started to learn the things that could and would make me a project manager and get me out of the field and into more money using my brain and not my back.

Over twenty years later I have managed some success. I became a project manager, consultant and published author, but not without great effort and many disappointments. One thing stands out more than any other. The whole process would have been so much easier had I learned study habits way back in high school. Our minds are so much more receptive to leaning when the brain cells are young and not permeated with beer and tobacco.

Success is not equated to money only. Success is being able to take responsibility for your own life and look in the mirror when you want to blame others for failure. Success means surrounding yourself with capable men and women who want to be there because of mutual respect and admiration. Success means giving credit to co-workers knowing that the praise will come back full circle. Success also means caring about others, especially your loved ones and family.

No, I’m not a millionaire, but I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. I have the perfect life and life’s partner. I am blessed each and every day with all my needs and desires fulfilled. Would I do it all over again knowing what I know now? No, I probably would just screw up at a different level. What I would do though is get that formal education that is available to every American. Sometimes the road less traveled can be the easiest one.

Write on,

Mittster

To Kill Or Not To Kill

I see the death of little Caylee Anthony is back in the news and the trial of her mother for first degree murder has started. That also means that if convicted, Caylee’s mother, Casey, could, and probably will, face the death sentence. The trial is in Florida, where a death sentence means exactly that, a death sentence. Now is when the nation, and in fact, the whole world will start lining up in two camps. The capital punishment advocates vs. the no capital punishment group.

From my perspective it is the angel against the devil sitting on my shoulders whispering in my ears. The devil says convincingly,
“Execute the horrible monster who, after killing her daughter, stuffed the little darling into the trunk of the car to rot while Mom went dancing and partying.” “Hold on, devil,” the angel replies, “Only God has the right to take human life. Vengeance is mine and mine alone. Besides, how many innocent people have been executed by the hangman throughout history? Maybe, just maybe, Casey is telling the truth. Only God can decide her innocence or guilt on judgment day. Remember the commandment, Thou shalt not kill.” “Oh, I remember it,” replies the devil, "God is killing off thousands of children every year due to starvation and abuse. What kind of God do you worship anyway?”

The argument on my shoulders goes on and on until my head feels like it is going to explode. Finally, I intervene – “Be gone, both of you!” I knock the devil and angel off my shoulders, bag them both, put the bag in the trunk of my car, and then go down to the local pub for a cold one. I don’t mean to make light of the seriousness of the crime. The whole thing makes me sick inside. Sometimes humor, even sick humor, is the only way I can clear the cobwebs of indecision out of my brain.

There is one thing that makes the whole execution vs. life in prison without parole dilemma easier for me to deal with. Mankind has not figured it out for hundreds of years. For me to figure it out seems less important and in fact senseless. We are dealing with the law of the land, and the law in Florida land is clear. If you commit capital murder, you will be executed by lethal injection. Lethal injection, now there is a subject – oh, never mind, I will save it for a later blog. Lucky, lucky you….

Write on,

Mittster

Crazy is as Crazy Does

Remember the old country song where Waylon sings, “You have to be crazy to keep from going insane?” Well, brother, truer words were never spoken in today’s world. Among politics, religion, environmental issues, hate, death and taxes, people on this planet have a tough road to hoe, and when you add in the Mayan end of the world calendar in 2012, it gets really dicey.

I, for one, don’t give a damn about predictions in general. They have all been wrong or I wouldn’t be here writing this blog. The Mayan calendar thing is a little disconcerting though. The five thousand year cycle could mean the earth’s magnetic poles might switch places and life on this planet could have a really bad day. It has happened in the past and certainly could happen again.

Even this possibility really doesn’t concern me as much as Donald Trump running for president, especially after he said he wasn’t going to run. Could you picture him and Sarah Palin running on the same ticket? Stranger things have happened and continue to do so daily. I doubt The Donald could stand a real close look at his personal life though, but then who could? Just ask Arnold – it’s a good thing he wasn’t born in this country or he would have been running until a couple of days ago. I still don’t believe that the Schwarzenegger family couldn’t spot one of Arnie’s spawn a mile away. The accent thing should have given the little rug-rat away.

I think the craziest thing I have heard recently is that the U.S. had been holding Osama bin Laden prisoner for almost two years at the villa in Pakistan until the time was ripe to kill the bastard and let President Obama take the credit. What better way to get re-elected when the economy is tanked, along with most Americans. Sounds good, but politicians are not smart enough to pull that one off; only the CIA could do that…hhhmmm….

There is one bright spot in all this dark gloom. I was at my fiftieth high school reunion last Friday night and we had invocation and then stood and recited the pledge of allegiance. We even used the words “In God We Trust.” It had been a long time since I uttered those words and it felt very good. Perhaps I should stop worrying about the things I have no control over and start trusting in God more. Stop and think about it. Who else is there to trust?

I’m just saying,

Mittster

The Proof is in the Pudding

My author friend Eri Nelson once told me that she must strive for perfection in her writing. My reply to her was simple. “Strive for perfection and I guarantee you will turn into a blubbering idiot before you become a senior!” At one time, I too thought perfection should be the goal of any novel writer worth their salt. As it turned out, both of us were dead wrong.

I will always remember when I received my author copies of my first murder mystery novel, Evil in the Mirror. I was excited beyond belief and couldn’t wait to give copies to my family and close friends. After receiving glowing reviews and feeling on top of the world, I received a great review from a friend that also included the revelation that I had an obvious mistake in the book. One of my murdered detectives showed up again in a later chapter. I had inadvertently given the lead detective the wrong name. I called my publisher yelling, “Oh, my God, hold the presses, stop everything; there is a mistake!” I was mortified to say the least, and my Wheatmark representative Kat Gautreaux was mildly amused at the obvious tailspin I was in.

Kat softly said, “Mittster, nothing is perfect in the universe and we live in an imperfect world. Our goal as human beings should be excellence, not perfection. Not to worry, later down the road when we insert reviews, we will take care of the oversight.” With that being said, I reluctantly hung up the phone and headed for my wife in the next room for aid and comfort. My writer’s ego had taken a direct cannonball hit and was shattered beyond repair.

As I worked hard to complete my second novel, Day Stalker, my wife would interrupt me every time she found a mistake in a book she was reading. Being an avid reader of murder mysteries by bestselling authors, my wife interrupted me often and I was amazed at all the mistakes being made by known authors. After a few months of interruptions, I finally got it – we all make mistakes, including people who proof books for a living! I was able to finish my second novel without fear of failure; after all, it’s the storyline that really counts. Write an excellent book and people will read it regardless of typos and clerical errors. Write a stinker and no one will see any errors because they will have already slated the book for a yard sale without reading it.

The moral of this story is that we write because we are compelled to do so. We make mistakes because we are human.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

So You Want To Be An Author

So what is keeping you from joining the ranks of millions of other unknown, broke and downtrodden author wannabes? All it takes is money to get your novel published in today’s book world. There are many print-on-demand or POD publishers out there just waiting for you to happen by, said the spider to the fly.

I know much has been said about the thrill of seeing your book in print and for sale on Amazon.com, and there is some truth in that visual treat. The only downside is that unless you are independently wealthy, you will surely slink back to your day job to keep beans on the table and wonder if the effort was worth it.

My murder mysteries, Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker are indeed on Amazon and my name is plastered all over many pages on Google, but book sales are dismal no matter how hard I try to promote them. Could this mean the books are garbage? It could, but they are not; just check out the reviews! Something else is the cause of stale book sales.

The world economy certainly plays a large part. It’s hard to sell anything right now, let alone new books at retail when people can go to used book stores or better yet, a library and get books for free. I don’t blame anyone for doing that; readaholics need their fix and when money is scarce, libraries are the place to go.

Another possibility is that traditional publishers have become so elite that sending a manuscript to them is an exercise in futility and a waste of postage. How the big publishers stay so snobbish is a mystery to me (no pun intended). I think there is a method to their madness though. If you publish only known, bestselling authors, you don’t waste profits on promoting someone unknown that may or may not sell many books.

On a positive note, I am not going to throw in the towel. Maybe I can outlive the publishing snobs and snobettes and still become a bestselling author. In the meanwhile, I think I will fire up the Harley and go for a ride. When I get back, things will look much better and I will be able to continue writing my new murder mystery called The Phoenix Code. After all, writing is my passion while money is just a means to an end. I think the term “starving author” has some dignity to it. No one likes an obese bestselling author!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Killer Books

I present Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker to you with pride and amazement. The amazement part is because they are my first novels written after a full career in an unrelated field. Sometimes humorous, but most times not, my novels are honest pathways into the minds of serial killers, rapists and perverts. Surely, I must be all those things to be able to write the murder mysteries that gush out of my brain. After all, most say, “You are one sick puppy, Mittster.” To those people who say it and/or think it because they are too polite to say it, I say, “Thank you very much – that’s the nicest thing that has been said to me this year.”

I tire of trying to explain that my books are fiction, it’s simply imagination, and don’t shoot the messenger. Murder mystery readers are, for the most part, sick puppies in their own right. It’s nice to know I am not alone. I too like a good “who done it”; after all, reading is how I became a writer in the first place. I just wanted to write something different that was also a page turner and thought provoking. If the reviews are any indication, I have done just that. I say these things about myself mainly because if I don’t, no one else will. Tooting your own horn works well in the author business because ego is part of the engine that drives the writing machine.

We writers are constantly trying to gain approval from our reading public. To my fellow sickoids who have read my books and responded with knee-jerk reactions, whether good or bad – I thank you. I also thank the folks who read my blogs and seem to want more. Perhaps someday I will rise to the status of “Best Seller,” but in the meantime, if you have any friends in the mental health field, you might ask them to read my books. I am sure they will gain physiological insight and wonder why in the hell I am not on death row in San Quentin Prison. Sometimes, I wonder the same thing....

Write on,

Mittster

Can’t Kick the Habit

I am really trying to not get up at three a.m. anymore. I finished my first two novels, Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker, and the third one, The Phoenix Code, is on the shelf because I am now working as a consultant for a construction company from Hawaii.

Even though my passion is writing, it was time to refurbish the coffers until I retire yet again and pick up where I left off. My problem is that for two years while writing murder mysteries, I would get up no later than three a.m. and most times earlier. By two p.m. I would be ready to lie down for the day. Well, I can’t do that anymore – The Islands is three hours behind our time. When the team in Hawaii gets geared up for their day, I’m nodding off at my desk!

It’s a good thing I still enjoy working with spreadsheets and calculations or this gig could be the straw that broke the old camel’s back. The truth be known, working for this company is very exciting and I look forward to each day. I did mention to my wife that this will be my last hurrah, and then I will retire from construction for real. That comment was bull poop and I knew it…I will quit after they lay my worn-out carcass to rest.

I am grateful this opportunity came my way while we are suffering from the deepest worldwide recession I have ever seen, to say nothing of the natural disasters that have been plaguing the world right and left. Sometimes it is good to step back and be thankful for what we have, instead of worrying about what we think we should have. I am blessed with a fantastic family, a roof over our heads and food to eat. The rest is just icing on the cake.

In the meanwhile, I was again out of bed at exactly three a.m. with my wife’s parting word ringing in my head, “Idiot!”

She’s just saying,

Mittster

Peanut Butter

No pun intended, but Salmonella in my Skippy’s creamy, low fat, peanut butter? I just stuffed down three peanut butter sandwiches and a quart of milk, for God’s sake. What am I supposed to do now, just sit here and wait for the explosion? I have been eating Skippy’s for as long as I can remember and this crap has never happened before. (Sorry, there I go again with the puns.)

Up until the TV news and e-mail warning, I thought Salmonella was a country in Asia. What a surprise it was to learn the truth, it kind of took the edge off my Sunday afternoon snack time. I can assure you peanut butter is off the menu forever, or at least until the craving overtakes me again.

Hold on, wait a minute…my stomach is starting to rumble. Oh, God, please don’t let me get sick. Now I am getting nauseated, my vision is blurring, and my equilibrium is going fast. I need to lie down and try to ride this out. What is that ringing in my ears? It’s getting louder and louder. Hello, it’s my alarm clock and it says it’s Monday morning and time to get up for work. Holy smoley, what a horrible nightmare – first thing this morning, I am throwing away the four jars of unopened peanut butter sitting on the counter where I left them Sunday morning!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

No Real Republican Front Runner?

I beg the difference with the political poles; Sarah is my front runner hands down! It's about time we had someone sexy and crazy in the white house. Lord knows we have had everyone else from A to Z, and their only claim to fame is that they were all just crazy. It's time for someone with a fabulous mouth to talk with, and an equally fabulous body to persuade with, occupy the White House. Even Ben Laden would surrender to put a lip lock on Sarah Palin. How else could he stop her incessant chattering? Don't answer that!

Let the insanity continue with a twist of sexual persuasiveness added in for good measure. One thing is for sure, middle America will continue to be squeezed out of the process until we become just a faint memory. Let’s hire Sarah and at least have a little fun on the way out….

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Miltary Justice

I should stop using the term “Get a rope” when I get upset with others who are just practicing their constitutional right of free speech. There are two sides to every coin, and listening to someone else’s prospective on life is just as important as expounding on mine own.

Of course, there are a few exceptions to the free speech concept. This is where the word civilized comes in to play. Is it OK to speak out against the country that provides you with constitutional rights protecting your free speech, like Jane Fonda did in Vietnam, even though it caused more torture and deaths of American prisoners of war? Her actions were despicable and certainly uncivilized, but she was not prosecuted because of her civil constitutional right of free speech. One consolation is that millions of service men and women hate her guts to this very day. I say, “Get a rope!” Oh, crap, my bad – I promised not to use my right of free speech in this case because it is uncivilized.

What about the WikiLeaks and U.S. Army Private Bradley Manning’s case? Let’s agree to at least one point. Private Bradley Manning swore an oath to perform his duties to his country as per the military code of ethics. I can assure you the ethics do not include leaking information of any kind to the media and especially in time of war. Is Private Manning entitled to free speech as spelled out in the Constitution? I think not. His military oath precludes everything, especially free speech. Loose lips sink ships and get people killed. Now, we must assume Bradley Manning is innocent until proven guilty. He does have that right, even in the Army.

There was no doubt of Jane Fonda’s guilt; after all, she flaunted herself in front of North Vietnamese cameras running her mouth the whole time. We so far have not seen any evidence that would indicate Private Manning is guilty of leaking secrete documents to WikiLeak. That revelation will have to wait for his court martial. In the meantime, the controversy will rage on and most of us will be able to say what we want because we have the right to do so. I know I have the right to say, “Get a rope,” but I will refrain from doing so in the future. I wonder if saying “Get a rope” infers that I am a vigilante of some kind; which, by the way, is certainly illegal in our country. Of course I am not a vigilante, and I do not support capital punishment. Now, that subject is for another blog…. I can feel the debate heating up!

I’m just saying,


Mittster

The Zoo At Our House

You should try to write a book while living in the zoo at our house. As I write, Pickles, the Meyer’s parrot, is screeching because he wants to be with me in the office so he can tear up everything in sight and then poop on it for good measure. He took a shower with me this morning, but no, that’s not good enough. I bought the little terror seven years ago for my wife’s birthday, but he bonded to me. She just had to have a parrot, and now I get to be married to both!

Then there is Mittsy the Pomeranian. We bought Mittsy in Michigan fourteen years ago. She is our oldest and is exhibiting some of the same behavior as my mother-in-law. That’s not to say I don’t love them both. I do, but not being able to control your bladder is OK for a human, but not so OK for a dog who thinks every rug in the house is a potty. She is so adorable and loving; it will be hard to see her leave the planet. Perhaps because she is half blind and losing her hearing, Mittsy can’t tell where the outdoors is anymore. Come to think of it, I have days like that too!

Annie is our long-haired Chihuahua – she is about eight years old and the real nutsoid of the family. We sort of rescued her from the vet because one of his customers couldn’t take care of her anymore. She is our Prozac dog and needs her fix two times a day. Without it, she turns into a nightmare with fangs and claws. None of the other dogs are safe when she goes off, especially Mittsy. She sleeps a lot these days, but is still terrified at the sound of rain, wind or thunder, and when she accidently bites herself. She also likes to sit in a corner and look and growl at what must be ghosts in the house. This doesn’t bother me much; I figure they (the ghosts) are too busy with her to bother with us. That works for me….

We do have a well behaved, short-haired, black and tan Chihuahua named Gonzo (named after the ex-baseball player for the Arizona Diamondbacks). We bought him in Arizona about seven years ago. What a little gentleman he is, tough, but always polite with his human pack. His idea of play is to grab a toy and stay just ahead of me, tail wagging, while I sort of run after him saying, “That’s my toy, Gonzo. It’s mine, it’s mine, and I want it right now.” Of course I never quite catch him and eventually he gets under the kitchen table and chews on his toy while I head back to the office to try and get some work done.

Last, but not least, is our white, short-haired Chihuahua named Taco. We rescued him a couple of years ago from a Prescott Valley, Arizona, rescue center. He was abandoned in the dead of winter by some unknown creep (you know who you are!). How he survived that particularly cold winter is anyone’s guess, but the important thing is that he is living with us and we will provide for him until it’s time for him to leave the planet. Taco is a Deer Chihuahua with extremely long legs, and he can run like the wind. He is our miniature sight hound and there is nothing better than watching him run at a dog park. He takes turns sleeping at night under the covers snuggled up to me or wifey, although I must admit he bonded to Sandy from the very beginning, but when she is not home, I get him all to myself.

Well, there you have it – a writer’s nightmare it would seem. The truth is that I couldn’t write without the zoo in our house. I can’t imagine living without our pets, and in fact, we both require their companionship and love. They force us to stay home much of the time, but in today’s world, that isn’t such a bad idea. I do miss wifey not going on long distance book signings with me, but we both understand the commitment pets require and we lovingly succumb to that commitment.

Write on,

Mittster

See No Evil

What is it with women now-a-days? It’s like no matter how hard a guy tries to please them, they get bored and want to move on to something more exciting. Look at Sally in the picture; she just had to have Marvin, but now she is bored out of her skull and can’t wait to dump the poor slob. I don’t really feel too sorry for Marvin though; he knew full well the risk he was taking when they hooked up.

Now, I’m not saying that a makeover wouldn’t help to save Marvin’s relationship – you know, some dental work, possibly have the ears pinned back, maybe a manicure and pedicure, along with clothes around the private parts. All this and more could, but probably won’t, save the big ape from some lonely days and nights in the near future. The look on Sally’s face tells me Marvin is doomed.

Oh, well, it’s no skin off my footpads; perhaps Marvin could find someone else who shares his interests, like picking off bugs, licking private parts and swinging in trees. Having something in common with your partner really does help in the real world. I can see on Marvin’s face that the lovemaking was great, but only for him. Perhaps he should see a therapist and learn some restraint. He will need it in the coming months of being without a partner.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Two years ago the bottom fell out of our economy. I know, tell me something you don’t know. My thought then was that this would be an opportune time to write a novel. I ended up writing two novels and two e-books because the recession lasted longer than anyone could predict or even imagine.

I looked around at the devastation the recession was causing middle and poor America, with homes being foreclosed on at record rates and jobs disappearing at even faster rates, I wondered how in the world people were going to pay their rent, utilities, car payments, or even feed their children. I remember in my younger years going though recessions when construction was D.O.A. in Arizona, but I was able to travel to other states to keep my family fed and a roof over their heads. This time was different indeed; there were no construction jobs anywhere in the country.

While writing my books, I kept up to date on job prospects through Monster.com and other Websites. After about eighteen months, I started to notice more and more construction jobs offered on line. In fact, there were even more construction jobs offered in the Phoenix newspapers, which had been devoid of any real opportunities and the few companies who did offer jobs were inundated with resumes.

Recently, I was offered a consulting position with an out-of-state contractor who wants to expand into Arizona. Now this was the sign I was looking for, not just because it meant employment for me, but also because I believe we are coming back from the brink of a depression!

No, I am by no means an expert on the subject of recessions, but I am an expert on how to survive hard times in the construction industry. I know the signs of recovery when I see them and that is exactly what I am seeing. In any case, my optimism should encourage everyone to be positive and start looking for work opportunities again in earnest. In the meantime, I will blog any news about constructions positions as I hear of them.

Write on,



Mittster

Grey Hair Rules

I ask myself, “Are you ready for your 50th high school reunion in May?” I talk about being able to look into the mirror and like what you see on my blogs, but the mirror I will be looking into at the class reunion has bright, natural lighting. Everyone there will be a reflection of me—and there will be no denying that we are all pushing 70 like a bulldozer on steroids.

This whole reflection thing started yesterday after I broke down and finally booked a hotel room for the festivities, knowing that if I didn’t, there would be a possibility of sleeping in my truck. I sat there afterwards reflecting on the Internet picture of Escondido High School. It brought back a flood of memories; some good, some not so good, but wonderful memories nonetheless.

Last night I dreamt that I was at the reunion having a ball with all my classmates, even the ones who have passed, and we were all the same age as when we graduated. It was a wonderful dream and it all seemed so natural and real, until I awoke and reality flooded in where fantasy had been. It’s OK though as everyone there was happy and old high school rivalries, jealousies and grudges were conspicuously absent. Perhaps there is a message in the dream?

I am hoping that when the remainder of The Class of ’61 meets we can travel back in time and be joyous in the knowledge that we made it to this point in time with dignity, love and happiness. What a life it has been, and I for one look forward to celebrating my life with the lives of my classmates. They all have stories to tell and I can’t wait to hear all about them.

Yes, we will all be young at heart again, dancing to rock & roll music, and just plain acting kooky, just like when we were teenagers. Elvis Presley will be there along with Ricky Nelson and Chuck Berry, just to name a few, singing again to the squealing delight of all the classmates. To the young we will look like a bunch of silly old folks, but to us we will look and feel like the teenagers that still live in our hearts. I wonder if I will be able to dance to rock & rock at our 60th reunion? Not to worry—I’m sure by that time science will have bionic body parts to replace our old ones. Let’s rock!

Write on,

My Bad

I owe the person who texted my wife asking who she was and what state she lived in an apology. I ridiculed this unknown person in my last blog. It turns out that I am the idiot and that fact verifies what my wife has been saying for years.

I had no clue that when you move and keep your current phone number that it also includes your area code. The person who called could have moved from the Verde Valley, Arizona, to Texas and kept their Arizona area code. They in turn would not necessarily know if we had or had not done the same.

The turn of events opens a real can of worms – now we really have no clue where the obnoxious, irritating calls really come from...only the CIA has that ability.

“What, me worry?” I only have an outdated phone that is devoid of bells and whistles. My wife and her fancy phone are now on their own!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Star Trek Phones

My wife recently purchased a new fangled cell phone that enables her to go on line, receive text messages, and about a hundred other functions. She actually has learned quite a bit about the phone and manages to keep in touch through texting. She even gets the weather reports while we are traveling. These phones are a marvel of technology and even though my wife was worried about all the functions, she is starting to master the art of using her intergalactic communicator. There is only one problem; you can’t control the idiots on the other end of the signal.

While returning home from Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday, wifey received a text signal. “Oh great, I bet it’s Chris from Michigan!” she exclaimed. “I bet he is buried up to his butt in snow,” was my reply. As my wife pushed buttons and changed screens with a swish of her finger, a perplexed look came over her face. “I don’t believe this; the message reads, ‘Hey, who is this?’” she announced. I remarked, “Ask them, who in the hell are you?” She typed in, “Who are you?” While we were waiting for an answer, I was thinking, don’t you just hate it when someone calls you and asks who is this? I always reply, “This is me, who are you?”

After a minute or so, the phone again announced that another text message had arrived. It read, “I have your number in my phone, but no name. I need to know your name and what state you’re in.” “That’s enough of that,” my wife said to me as she put her phone back in her purse.

After a couple of minutes passed and we were discussing the virtues of not being an idiot like the person texting us, the phone rang again. With trepidation, my wife retrieved her phone and read the following text. “Are you the Simpsons from Houston, Texas?” Now under normal circumstances, that may be a valid question. But, consider this; the caller had a 928-301 number, which is a cell phone from the Verde Valley, Arizona, area, and the call was sent to our 928-821 number, which is also a Verde Valley, Arizona, cell number. How can this idiot not know we are from Arizona and what has Houston, Texas got to do with anything? The answer is simple; you can’t fix stupid!

I’m just saying,

Mittster

The Clown is Down!

I think humans are losing the ability to laugh at themselves. We still do well at laughing at the afflictions of others, but looking in the mirror and having a good laugh at what we see is non-existent these days.

While I look in the mirror and wonder where all the years have gone, I also laugh at all the fun I had along the way. Regrets, sure, but all in all it has been a fun ride. I certainly don’t laugh at the mistakes that caused others pain, but I do laugh at the stupidity of those mistakes.

I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to laugh at our opinions concerning animals of supposedly lower orders. It is becoming abundantly clear that intelligence is not measured by the size of a brain, but rather how the brain is used. I have proved many times in my life that my brain must be the size of a pea, yet some birds with a brain the size of a pea are operating at genius level.

One thing I am not seeing in the mirror anymore is my past arrogance that we humans are the best thing since sliced bread. That’s a real laugh if you think about it; we can’t even get along with each other, let alone our partners who share the planet. After all, if you study life on Earth you learn that everything is in just one big partnership. What happens to one species eventually happens to all species. Can’t see it? Well, that’s the arrogance I speak about.

If you are one of the thirteen or so people who read my blogs and are now bummed out, not to worry. Go to the mirror for an exercise in humility. Look closely at the reflection – now isn’t that just about the funniest thing you have ever seen? Image of God, really? My God reflects the whole universe and all living things, not just one funny looking species with no humor.

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Party Harty!

With young people today it's all party and play, with no thought to the future. Getting old is inevitable and all you young whipper snappers are heading there like a runaway freight train. I prepared myself years ago for this day, as the last picture on this blog will attest! Just call me way cool, and know that the gals love me!

Where is the Remote?

I don’t think there is a wife or girlfriend on the planet that hasn’t had to look for their man’s TV remote control at one time or another. Men losing stuff they had in their hands a few moments before is not confined to just remotes either. The list includes keys, glasses, gloves, etc. The list is endless and the hunt exasperating. This is not to say that women don’t lose stuff too; they do, but it’s just that women handle the situation way better while we men go ballistic.

I thought when we started using a motor home for vacations that the horrible “losing game” would stop. The square footage of a motor home is minuscule compared to a house and there are fewer places for the stuff to hide. WRONG! Square footage has nothing to do with the art of physical things escaping human possession.

“Darling, have you seen my keys?” “They are probably right where you left them, dear.” “I can’t find them anywhere!” “Did you look in the truck?” “I would never leave them in the truck, wifey!!” After ten minutes of both of us looking, while I rant and rave, my wife would find them on the floorboard of the truck right where I left them. I then storm off to the hardware store, while she takes a couple of migraine headache pills and retreats to a dark closet.

And, what about glasses? I happen to know on good authority that eye glasses are supernatural in nature. It all started when Ben Franklin invented the darn things while belonging to the Free Masons, who in turn belonged to the Knights Templar, who in turn stole the Holy Grail and hid it in America. It all makes perfect sense if you think about it. Glasses where born to hide, and hide well. I just know when I lose mine that they are with the Holy Grail – find the glasses and you find the Grail.

I think my brother, Walt, has the answer. He carries a man-purse the size of Texas. His whole life’s accumulation of stuff is in that purse. It’s so big that it’s impossible to lose anything. Of course, someday he will be too old to carry it and that will be the time when he also will join the rest of us in the “losing game.” Until then, I’ll be damned if I am going to carry a purse! Let the hunt begin….

I’m just saying,

Mittster

Saddle Up!

While I was selling my murder mysteries, Evil in the Mirror and Day Stalker, at Reader's Oasis Books in Quartzsite, Arizona, yesterday, I met a fellow author who is 83 years old. He is a spry gentleman, very opinionated, and still tough as nails. As a WWII vet, which is becoming a rare species indeed, he has seen and heard just about everything under the sun.

We started talking about the weather and soon we hit on politics. I mentioned in passing that we shouldn’t talk about politics or religion. We then proceeded to talk about both in earnest. Of course, he thought the world had gone to hell in a hand basket, which it has, and that the Holy Bible was his co-pilot, which is OK with me.

Our conversation finally rested on John Wayne and Ronald Reagan. “If those two men were president and vice president we could get something done in Washington,” my new friend declared. I nodded in agreement while pondering the possibilities. I wondered outloud which one would be president. “Why that’s simple,” he said. “They would arm wrestle for the honor!” I’m seeing both men, in my mind’s eye, arm wrestling on national TV for the honor of being President of the United States of America. “Who do you think would win?” I asked. “The Duke would, hands down,” was the answer. I let the subject go for fear of having to arm wrestle my author friend right then and there to settle the question. It would be embarrassing to be whipped by an 83 year old in front of everyone and their mothers.

The conversation then turned to the young people of America. My friend spoke up loudly, “Damn kids today are lazy. They need to get off their fat butts and 'saddle up' just like the Duke would have.” I immediately thought of the “old man” on Pawn Stars telling Chumlee to get to work. No sense saying anything to my new friend; I was sure he didn’t watch the program, so I nodded in agreement.

We both sat at our tables feeling the warm sun hit our faces while looking up at a beautiful blue sky. I had no way of really knowing what my friend was thinking during our silence, but I am sure he was thinking about how things used to be. Personally, I was thinking about how I would vote for my new author friend to be president in a heart beat!

I’m just saying,

Mittster