Hello friends,
It was 2001. Three years before Johnny Ramone lost his battle with cancer.
I extend my hand to shake his and I said.............(wait a minute folks, let me back up a few hours)
So, I am sittin' in the poker room at the Mirage Casino in LasVegas. It's about 11 in the morning and I have been there most of the night grinding away. This has been a good trip so far. I have been killin'em. Now this was the first trip to Sin City for the lady friend I brought with me. She was very shocked, but she had a blast. Now my friends, you see, winning is better than losing cause you can have tons of fun blowing their money. We bought so much stuff we were shipping it back home by the box full. We took limos instead of taxis (limo drivers are a great source to get things you need that you may have choose not to bring with you on the plane i.e. a reading lamp, a kitten, a bunt cake, etc) We went to that fancy strip joint that has dudes dancin' upstairs and chicks on poles down stairs. We went to a bunch of fancy shows and ate a bunch of fancy food. I took her to Valentino's Zootsuit Connection to shop and bought her bunch of fancy clothes.
Anyway, back to the Mirage.
So I'm sittin' there and Art 'Ed "Hey Ralphy Boy" Norton' Carney sits down. He didn't play long cause he was 117 years old and having trouble staying awake. So later that evening, as we are getting ready to go out, I tell my friend about playing cards with my good buddy Art. She asks me if I spoke to him or got his autograph. That's when Mr. Big Shot (yours truly) starts in "Autograph?!? Listen doll, he puts his pants on one leg at a time just like me. I don't get on my knees for any man. Maybe I should get all goo-goo eyed and ask if I could shine his stinkin' shoes while I'm at it" My chest was stuck out as I paraded around our luxurious economy suite shaking my finger in the air acting and sounding like Ralph Kramden (with out meaning too)
So later later that evening after we had seen Rick Springfield in the FX show at the MGM (It was as bad as it sounds, but my friend looooooves Rick Springfield) we are walking through the Forum Shops. I looked like a freak, I tell you. But in a good way. My hair was greased up and my side burns were long. I was wearing a blue 1970's western suit and a wild 1950's tie from Renburgs. And of course a pair of pointy toed boots. I am struttin' around like I am somebody. Then it happens. Here comes Johnny Ramone out of Versace not 10 feet from me. I'm dumbfounded. Not only that it was him but that he was in a fancy two dollar joint like that (I blame his wife) I forgot all about my infamous 'I'm a man' soliloquy, and I made a B-line straight for my favorite punk rock guitar player. I extend my hand to shake his and I said "You changed my life" He smiled and asked me my name. ????? Ah oh, my brain has frozen up solid.....think stupid, think.....this is an easy one...THINK! "Eddy" I replied. So we stood there staring at each other not saying a word. Then finally he asked "Where are you from Eddy" I just stood there with a big, stupid smile on my face and beads of sweat rolling down my brow. I'm completely tongue tied......what did he just ask? I forgot the question. I'm starting to feel sick at my stomach. Then I stumble through this timeless statement "Tulsa, that's where I'm from. It's in Oklahoma. Your from New York" (Damn it! Did I just tell him where he was from? Shut up dummy, just shut your big yapper. But no-can-do, I just kept on a diggin' that hole deeper and deeper. I wanted to cry) "I saw you and your band, the Ramones, (Christ pinhead, he knows his bands name) at the Cains in 79" He informed me that it was in 1978, but said it was December so close enough..........oh no, frozen again......pleeeeze God, help me......Then I said this classic line "I got a CD song I wrote on and sang on...a line I had wroten (wroten?!?! What the hell does 'wroten' mean?) that says 'I'm like Johnny Ramone with my pants on fire' that's what it says" Lord he must have been proud........frozen.....come on.........Then, out of no where, this poured out of my mouth. I didn't want to say it, but it just came out anyway. I was helpless. "My guitar strap is just like yours". Somebody shoot me. We shake hands again and say goodbye. He walks off and I just stood there hating myself and wanting to punch my balls in. I mean, give my testicles a solid Mike Tyson uppercut.
But my friends, you will be glad to know that I kept my integrity and didn't ask for his autograph. I am to much of a man for that. I had my friend chase him down in 'Just For Feet' and get it for me, cause I don't get on my knees for any man.
***
'All the rest is just jive and honey' What the hell does that mean?
My stupid homeless friend Nipper is staying with Tracy and I till he finds a new place. This 'Honeymooners' clip not only kinda resembles us, it sounds exactly like us. Exactly. Here is Ralph Kramden and Ed Norton. For those of you to young, Art Carney is the skinny one.
Here is the famous 'pants on fire' line.
Adios,
~e~
Friday, June 5, 2009
Hit Me
Hello friends,
I have an old ex friend who is in some trouble. Quite a bit of trouble I hear. Now, I haven't spoken to him but I think the root of all his trouble is that he has a gambling problem. I tried to get him to bet with me, back in the day, and he wouldn't bet more than a soda. Hell, that's no fun. Now I hear he's been flyin' off to LasVegas and haunting the casinos around here. Let me tell you something, I am a bit of a sporting man myself. More than most I suppose. And believe me, I have seen those faces across the table from me. That look of despair. They don't look mad, they look like their whole world has collapsed. Like they are about to puke. Whether they lost the grocery money or their life savings or the money they stole from work which they planed to sneak back after they get back to even is irrelevant. They all look like they are gonna slit their wrists. There is nothing worse than a degenerate gamble who is desperate and playing on tilt. You can pick them out. You can smell the blood in the water. I always feel bad for them, but they are easy money so the sharks circle.
So here are my fool proof gaming tips to keep you out of trouble.
Now, these are not for you who (you who? Oh youuuu whoooo) take their 20 dollars and head out for a night of high jinx and fun. These tips are for you who take some cash to the casino to gamble.
1) Learn how to play the game before your dumb ass ever sits down in front of a dealer. In 21 there is only one play for each hand. EVER. If you don't know what they are, don't play until you do. Now, this doesn't mean your gonna win, your just playing the odds. I don't play 21 here. I think it's ludicrous to have to ante. Why would I pay someone to play a game that's already in there favor? But If you want to know how to play, email me.
2) Every one has a uncle who has a system and kills'um in Atlantic City. Bull shit. There are no systems on how to win, there are only ways to put the odds more in your favor.
3) Don't play for the adrenalin rush, play for the money.
4) Don't play on tilt. Never let your emotions control your gambling. Never play mad, depressed, sad, sick, gloomy, etc.
5) Never play to catch up. When it's gone it's gone. Let it go.
6) Never gamble with the grocery money.
7) Control your losses. This one is kinda in depth. If you want to know how, send me an email and I will explain it.
8) Pay attention to what the hell you are doing. Do you think that the casino owners in LasVegas have those waitresses boobs all hanging out cause they like boobs? No, it's because boobs like me, who like boobs, get distracted when they see boobs. That's why.
9) Stay sober. Drugs are OK if they are the right kind of gambling drugs....kidding, just kidding. Drugs are bad.
10) It's easy to know when to walk away a loser, but more important, you need to know when to walk away a winner.
11) If you are winning, you tip. People around here don't tip. If your winning you tip your dealer, the waitress, the cashier, the valet, the chick with the funny hair in the gift shop, etc.
12) And last, it's LasVegas not Vegas and it's 21 not blackjack.
So, are we cool? It only takes a blink of an eye to lose it all. Don't end up like my ol' ex friend. Believe me, he's in hot water.
***
Adios,
~e~
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Mighty 16
Hello friends,
Today I am a little discouraged. I was checking out some of the other blogs on this here site and found them all to be much better written than mine, look much better than mine, and have hundreds of followers. I have 16. Not to say that your quality is worth less than their quantity, but as sheer numbers go, I think I'm in last place. Can you believe my very own sisters aren't on here. Hell, Tracy isn't even on here. I suppose she gets to hear enough of my stupid crap around the house. I guess I can't really blame her.
Oh well, here's to the mighty 16. Hip hip hooray!!!
Have you ever noticed how certain songs can make you feel a certain way? I mean, some songs actually make me feel physically different. These two song do this to me more than most. They were from different times, but both make me feel the same way. I get this weird feeling in my stomach. I don't know how to explain it. It's not that they make me sad, just kinda strange and empty. I don't know.
I got a line straight from my heart ~
There was a time it ran to you ~
Another place where we were smart ~
Before the flood and time was through ~
I sing myself to sleep at night ~
I sing myself to sleep ~
Another song about the rain ~
Coming down it burns through me ~
Another song about the rain ~
It never rained so viciously ~
You always wanted more time ~
To do what you ~
Always wanted to do ~
Now you got it ~
And I~
I must be high ~
To say goodbye ~
Bye bye bye ~
Adios,
~e~
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Stanleyman
Hello friends,
Well, Tracy left for Hawaii Saturday morning and I believe I set a record this time. It only took till Monday morning for me to screw things up. See, we have these dumpster cats and they are very spoiled. They have the run of the house for the exception of our bedroom. Now, ever since Tracy has been gone Stanleyman has been looking for her, moping and pouting around like some teenage who just found out that being grounded means you don't get to go hang out at Rockwell Park with Scott and Roger on Friday night because you got a bunch of D's on your report card (that you probably didn't deserve but the teachers hated you for no good reason) Where was I? Oh yeah, Stanley. I proceed to fall asleep on the couch Sunday night. I wake up at about 7:00 in the AM and head to my bedroom. When I turn the corner there is Stanley, just laying there waiting for Tracy to get up. I told him she was in Hawaii but he didn't understand me cause he's a pussycat. So I decide to brake cardinal rule number 37 and let Stanleyman in the room to see for himself, while he is looking around I crawled in bed and fall asleep. Next thing I know, Little Ethel Merman is meow, meow, meowing, I wake up to see that Stanley's fat ass has fell through the screen on the window and is long gone! Christ all mighty, where the hell did he go?!?! L.E.M. (Little Ethel Merman) is just like Lassie except he's a little pussycat and I'm just like Timmy except grown up and better looking.
Now, I kinda fancy myself as some what of a MacGyver and I am probably the best pussycat wrangler in these parts, so I got to work. Don't worry Stanleyman, I'm coming. I put on my warden hat and put all the pussycats on lock down, and recuted my stupid friend Nipper to help me. I set 2 pussycat traps out baited with a variety of foods I thought Stanley would like. I put his litter box by the open back door. I dawned my handy flash light headband and crawled around under the house and my deck like a spelunker on crank (have I mentioned that I have a huge deck. I have all kinda of pictures of my deck. All the Lady's want to see my big deck....sorry) Nipper crawled around under there too. I put some food in the Man Cave (my detached garage) under the house, and by my deck where I tore off about a 7 foot section of lattice (I better get that fixed before Tracy gets home) Then I sprinkled flour all around the food bowls so I could see if he was there and which way he went. I put 2 security cameras out, 1 under the house and 1 in the Man Cave, and ran the lines into mission control (my living room) I told Tracy what had happened and she blamed me cause "I was in charge". I tried to blamed it on Nipper, but she didn't buy it. She was pissed. She said to open up the bedroom window and maybe he would come back the way he left. Good idea, except his fat ass can't jump that high. So, I made a ramp out of a 1x6 and wrapped it with carpet for traction. I placed it in the window then stuck Little Ethel Merman's butt in the hole (Kitty Crate) and threw him in to the bedroom and closed the door. And just as I planed, little sissy cat started crying like a big ol baby. That's gonna lure him in for sure....but then I felt bad cause of all the crying, so I put L.E.M. back in lock down with the other prisoners.
Now this all started about 9:30 in the morning. Then, as I stared zombie eyed at the surveillance monitors (my bedroom and living room TVs) I hear a faint meow from my bedroom. It can't be Stanlyman cause he has never ever meowed in his whole life. He is a mute pussycat. Some stray cat has climbed in the bedroom window. I jumped up, ran down the hall (all 4 feet) threw open the door, and there stands Stanly. Stanlyman, your not a mute! And your home!!! It's about 4:00 AM on Tuesday. I called Tracy and she is very relived. The pussycat prison is off lock down and the inmates are sleeping. Stanley is very happy to be back. He won't leave my side, never getting more than 3 feet away. He is sleeping next to my feet as I write this. I sure am glad he's back, my little fat assed Stanleyman.
Well, Tracy left for Hawaii Saturday morning and I believe I set a record this time. It only took till Monday morning for me to screw things up. See, we have these dumpster cats and they are very spoiled. They have the run of the house for the exception of our bedroom. Now, ever since Tracy has been gone Stanleyman has been looking for her, moping and pouting around like some teenage who just found out that being grounded means you don't get to go hang out at Rockwell Park with Scott and Roger on Friday night because you got a bunch of D's on your report card (that you probably didn't deserve but the teachers hated you for no good reason) Where was I? Oh yeah, Stanley. I proceed to fall asleep on the couch Sunday night. I wake up at about 7:00 in the AM and head to my bedroom. When I turn the corner there is Stanley, just laying there waiting for Tracy to get up. I told him she was in Hawaii but he didn't understand me cause he's a pussycat. So I decide to brake cardinal rule number 37 and let Stanleyman in the room to see for himself, while he is looking around I crawled in bed and fall asleep. Next thing I know, Little Ethel Merman is meow, meow, meowing, I wake up to see that Stanley's fat ass has fell through the screen on the window and is long gone! Christ all mighty, where the hell did he go?!?! L.E.M. (Little Ethel Merman) is just like Lassie except he's a little pussycat and I'm just like Timmy except grown up and better looking.
Now, I kinda fancy myself as some what of a MacGyver and I am probably the best pussycat wrangler in these parts, so I got to work. Don't worry Stanleyman, I'm coming. I put on my warden hat and put all the pussycats on lock down, and recuted my stupid friend Nipper to help me. I set 2 pussycat traps out baited with a variety of foods I thought Stanley would like. I put his litter box by the open back door. I dawned my handy flash light headband and crawled around under the house and my deck like a spelunker on crank (have I mentioned that I have a huge deck. I have all kinda of pictures of my deck. All the Lady's want to see my big deck....sorry) Nipper crawled around under there too. I put some food in the Man Cave (my detached garage) under the house, and by my deck where I tore off about a 7 foot section of lattice (I better get that fixed before Tracy gets home) Then I sprinkled flour all around the food bowls so I could see if he was there and which way he went. I put 2 security cameras out, 1 under the house and 1 in the Man Cave, and ran the lines into mission control (my living room) I told Tracy what had happened and she blamed me cause "I was in charge". I tried to blamed it on Nipper, but she didn't buy it. She was pissed. She said to open up the bedroom window and maybe he would come back the way he left. Good idea, except his fat ass can't jump that high. So, I made a ramp out of a 1x6 and wrapped it with carpet for traction. I placed it in the window then stuck Little Ethel Merman's butt in the hole (Kitty Crate) and threw him in to the bedroom and closed the door. And just as I planed, little sissy cat started crying like a big ol baby. That's gonna lure him in for sure....but then I felt bad cause of all the crying, so I put L.E.M. back in lock down with the other prisoners.
Now this all started about 9:30 in the morning. Then, as I stared zombie eyed at the surveillance monitors (my bedroom and living room TVs) I hear a faint meow from my bedroom. It can't be Stanlyman cause he has never ever meowed in his whole life. He is a mute pussycat. Some stray cat has climbed in the bedroom window. I jumped up, ran down the hall (all 4 feet) threw open the door, and there stands Stanly. Stanlyman, your not a mute! And your home!!! It's about 4:00 AM on Tuesday. I called Tracy and she is very relived. The pussycat prison is off lock down and the inmates are sleeping. Stanley is very happy to be back. He won't leave my side, never getting more than 3 feet away. He is sleeping next to my feet as I write this. I sure am glad he's back, my little fat assed Stanleyman.
I would have attached a photo of Stanley but for some reason most of my pictures are not on my computer any more. ??? I think that my stupid friend Nipper deleted them on accident while he was down loading some'educational' videos.
This is a great girl band but the video sound is not that great. I like it anyway. This is 'The Gore Gore Girls'.
Adios,
~e~
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Jimmy StraderHello friends,
My friend, Jimmy Strader, passed away Monday. His funeral will be at 4 p.m. Friday at All Souls Unitarian Church, 2952 S. Peoria Ave.
You know, the term genius is thrown around way to much, but anyone who has seen Jim play can not deny him that. Anyone who knows the least little bit about music knows what a phenomenal talent he was. Know, understand what I am going to say right now, because I am as serious as I have ever been, Jim was as good as anyone who has ever picked up a bass guitar, period. The fact that he is not in the Oklahoma Blues Hall of fame or The Jazz Hall is stupid. It proves that stupid people are in charge of all that rig-a-ma-roll. Oh, he will get in now for sure, but it's a little to late. You know why? Because he's DEAD! That's why. Good job team. Stupid, stupid people. That is the perfect example of why the music industry is so screwed up. It is run by business men not musicians. Besides, Jim thought that stuff was a bunch of crap anyway, so as far as I am concerned you can leave him out. You didn't want him before, so don't bother now.
My friend, Jimmy Strader, passed away Monday. His funeral will be at 4 p.m. Friday at All Souls Unitarian Church, 2952 S. Peoria Ave.
You know, the term genius is thrown around way to much, but anyone who has seen Jim play can not deny him that. Anyone who knows the least little bit about music knows what a phenomenal talent he was. Know, understand what I am going to say right now, because I am as serious as I have ever been, Jim was as good as anyone who has ever picked up a bass guitar, period. The fact that he is not in the Oklahoma Blues Hall of fame or The Jazz Hall is stupid. It proves that stupid people are in charge of all that rig-a-ma-roll. Oh, he will get in now for sure, but it's a little to late. You know why? Because he's DEAD! That's why. Good job team. Stupid, stupid people. That is the perfect example of why the music industry is so screwed up. It is run by business men not musicians. Besides, Jim thought that stuff was a bunch of crap anyway, so as far as I am concerned you can leave him out. You didn't want him before, so don't bother now.
Sorry.
Jimmy was a gentle giant who I loved very much. I would sit and listen to him talk. He would quote John Baconthorpe or Che Guevara or say things like 'It is hard to believe that right deductions from true principles should ever lead to conclusions that can’t be maintained or made consistent.' I would sit there with a real serious look on my face and nod, the whole while thinking 'What the hell is he talking about?'. It was hypnotizing to listen to him. I always walked away having learned something.
Now, I have a extremely wide musical taste, from Sun House to the Sex Pistols. But when I was younger it was only the Beatles. There was no one else as far as I was concerned. Jim was at the house and I was in the 8th or 9th grade. He said something about some band I can't remember and I said something stupid like "Yeah, well they ain't the Beatles'. Jim said to me "Don't limit yourself. I know that you feel like your betraying the Beatles, but you are really betraying yourself." Now, I don't know if that is the reason why I expanded my musical horizons, but if it is, he gave me something I could never pay back in a million years.
Here are a few seeds he planted~
1) Rock n roll isn't about great musicians, it's about great music.
2) Don't listen to what anyone says, Charley Watts is God on drums.
3) The Gibson SG is kind of a squirrely guitar.
4) That shit will destroy your life or maybe even kill you.
5) Miles Davis gets it.
6) The Ramones are a strait forward rock n roll band, just listen to the hooks.
7) Paul McCartney out of this world guineas, so is Les Claypool.
8) I saw a roadie bust Hank Thompson's guitar but I never told anyone.
9) Sometimes playing less is the only way to play it.
10) Don't try to write a song, just write a song.
I was honored to have Jimmy record with me. I will cherish those tracks till the day I die. Jimmy gets it.
My heart is sick. I will miss my friend very much.
Adios,
~e~
Now, I have a extremely wide musical taste, from Sun House to the Sex Pistols. But when I was younger it was only the Beatles. There was no one else as far as I was concerned. Jim was at the house and I was in the 8th or 9th grade. He said something about some band I can't remember and I said something stupid like "Yeah, well they ain't the Beatles'. Jim said to me "Don't limit yourself. I know that you feel like your betraying the Beatles, but you are really betraying yourself." Now, I don't know if that is the reason why I expanded my musical horizons, but if it is, he gave me something I could never pay back in a million years.
Here are a few seeds he planted~
1) Rock n roll isn't about great musicians, it's about great music.
2) Don't listen to what anyone says, Charley Watts is God on drums.
3) The Gibson SG is kind of a squirrely guitar.
4) That shit will destroy your life or maybe even kill you.
5) Miles Davis gets it.
6) The Ramones are a strait forward rock n roll band, just listen to the hooks.
7) Paul McCartney out of this world guineas, so is Les Claypool.
8) I saw a roadie bust Hank Thompson's guitar but I never told anyone.
9) Sometimes playing less is the only way to play it.
10) Don't try to write a song, just write a song.
I was honored to have Jimmy record with me. I will cherish those tracks till the day I die. Jimmy gets it.
My heart is sick. I will miss my friend very much.
Adios,
~e~
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
My Pop
The ONEOK BuildingHello friends,
I talked to a fella the other day who usta work for my father, well actually he worked for the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under my father. Now, let me describe my pop.
He is Caucasian, white hair, 6', 210 pound, college educated (University of Tulsa) engineer, and a WWII vet (Army Air Corp). He really doesn't say much, but when he does say something it has been thought out completely before he speaks. He is the smartest man I know. (I guess those brains jeans skip a generation) He is a mathematical whiz, but has common sense. He can figure out how much force it takes to move an object out of the earths gravitational pull and he can rebuild the carburetor on the lawn mower. He is a gentleman but doesn't take crap from anyone. He had a big office with a glass wall that over looked the lobby of the ONEOK building (which by the way, he was head engineer of the building of that baby).
Now, let me describe the fella I talked to. He is African American, 6'1", skinny, and high school educated. He is funny and a great guy. When he work with daddy-O his job was about at the bottom of the ol' corporate latter.
So, I called this fella up the other day and asked him for a favor, and needless to say he came through with fling colors. When I thanked him for doing the favor for me he said "I didn't do it for you. I did it for your father". I said "what do you mean?" He said "Your father always talked to me like he talked to everyone else."
I thought this was so cool. I was so proud of my pop. When I told my father about this conversation, he looked at me for a second, getting his thoughts in line I guess, and said "Well, how was I suppose to talk to him son?"
Well, there I stood with that stupid "I don't have an answer" look on me face that I have worn a gazillion times before. I said. Uh....well.....I just thought it was....I mean, thought that was...ahhh....you know dad, in this day and age and turbulent times, we find ourselves (I'm diggin' deep, trying to sound like this was well thought out) put in a position where society, or what we conceive as society, states (I can tell by the look on his face, one that he has worn a bazillion times before, that it ain't workin') that we, as a human race of humans, should live to the extremist formation (Christ, what the hell am I talkin' about?! He ain't buying it, but he ain't gonna stop me. He's gonna let me hang my dumb ass with my own damn words!) of the guide lines in which, we, as a society, have under tookin' (Under tookin'?!?!) as a whole, and as a nation. A nation of humans under God, with liberty pop, liberty! That's what I'm talkin' about" (My father must be completely baffled about what genetically went wrong with that whole reproduction thing) "Good Lord son, why is that such a big deal? Because I spoke to him?". "No...I mean, yes...no, wait a minute...because you were nice to him." I said. "Nice to him? Why wouldn't I be nice to him? (I'm giving him that 'look' agian) "Listen, I only know one way to talk. What should I have done, spoke Chinese? Sometimes son, I don't have any idea what the hell your talking about." (I got that one a lot, believe you me) But thanks to my quick thinking and dads hard hearing (Army Air Corp) I used pipe full-O-fun trick #14 to get myself out of this predicament. "Is that mom hollering? I think moms got dinner ready, it's meat loaf. You love meat loaf. I'm starving. I'll explain it to you after we eat pop, it's complicated" Ol' #14 always works...and he always lets me off the hook.
How cool was that?!?! It wasn't that he was being nice to the lowly employee or practicing good manners, he just talk to him. It never dawned on my pop that society had placed them worlds apart (Dad never really cared what "society" said anyway) It never entered dads mind that he was better than him or above him on some so-called social ladder. The fella was a man and dad treated him that way, like a man.
Pop had a saying " Son, you don't have to be a leader, just don't be a follower."
Chew on that one for a while.
I talked to a fella the other day who usta work for my father, well actually he worked for the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under the guy, who worked under my father. Now, let me describe my pop.
He is Caucasian, white hair, 6', 210 pound, college educated (University of Tulsa) engineer, and a WWII vet (Army Air Corp). He really doesn't say much, but when he does say something it has been thought out completely before he speaks. He is the smartest man I know. (I guess those brains jeans skip a generation) He is a mathematical whiz, but has common sense. He can figure out how much force it takes to move an object out of the earths gravitational pull and he can rebuild the carburetor on the lawn mower. He is a gentleman but doesn't take crap from anyone. He had a big office with a glass wall that over looked the lobby of the ONEOK building (which by the way, he was head engineer of the building of that baby).
Now, let me describe the fella I talked to. He is African American, 6'1", skinny, and high school educated. He is funny and a great guy. When he work with daddy-O his job was about at the bottom of the ol' corporate latter.
So, I called this fella up the other day and asked him for a favor, and needless to say he came through with fling colors. When I thanked him for doing the favor for me he said "I didn't do it for you. I did it for your father". I said "what do you mean?" He said "Your father always talked to me like he talked to everyone else."
I thought this was so cool. I was so proud of my pop. When I told my father about this conversation, he looked at me for a second, getting his thoughts in line I guess, and said "Well, how was I suppose to talk to him son?"
Well, there I stood with that stupid "I don't have an answer" look on me face that I have worn a gazillion times before. I said. Uh....well.....I just thought it was....I mean, thought that was...ahhh....you know dad, in this day and age and turbulent times, we find ourselves (I'm diggin' deep, trying to sound like this was well thought out) put in a position where society, or what we conceive as society, states (I can tell by the look on his face, one that he has worn a bazillion times before, that it ain't workin') that we, as a human race of humans, should live to the extremist formation (Christ, what the hell am I talkin' about?! He ain't buying it, but he ain't gonna stop me. He's gonna let me hang my dumb ass with my own damn words!) of the guide lines in which, we, as a society, have under tookin' (Under tookin'?!?!) as a whole, and as a nation. A nation of humans under God, with liberty pop, liberty! That's what I'm talkin' about" (My father must be completely baffled about what genetically went wrong with that whole reproduction thing) "Good Lord son, why is that such a big deal? Because I spoke to him?". "No...I mean, yes...no, wait a minute...because you were nice to him." I said. "Nice to him? Why wouldn't I be nice to him? (I'm giving him that 'look' agian) "Listen, I only know one way to talk. What should I have done, spoke Chinese? Sometimes son, I don't have any idea what the hell your talking about." (I got that one a lot, believe you me) But thanks to my quick thinking and dads hard hearing (Army Air Corp) I used pipe full-O-fun trick #14 to get myself out of this predicament. "Is that mom hollering? I think moms got dinner ready, it's meat loaf. You love meat loaf. I'm starving. I'll explain it to you after we eat pop, it's complicated" Ol' #14 always works...and he always lets me off the hook.
How cool was that?!?! It wasn't that he was being nice to the lowly employee or practicing good manners, he just talk to him. It never dawned on my pop that society had placed them worlds apart (Dad never really cared what "society" said anyway) It never entered dads mind that he was better than him or above him on some so-called social ladder. The fella was a man and dad treated him that way, like a man.
Pop had a saying " Son, you don't have to be a leader, just don't be a follower."
Chew on that one for a while.
Here are a couple of other do-dads pop had a hand in engineering.
I couldn't get the damn photos to upload. Stupid Blogspot. The stuff he was a part of were nothing big, just little things like the Saturne V rocket, the Boing 747, the AGM-28 Hound Dog Missile, etc....oh yeah, and me.
Thanks, pop!......you to mom.
My dad bought me my first electric guitar....well my first acoustic also...and one of those little plastic jobs when I was a little tot, anyway, I broke tradition and Smoke On The Water was not the first song I learned. This was the first song I learned. And I played it over and over and over and over and over. It must have drove him nuts. But he never asked me to quite.
Adios,
~e~
Adios,
~e~
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