Me & My Pony

July 2026

It was long ago and it was far away And it was so much better than it is today (It never felt so good, it never felt so right) (And we were glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife) Meat Loaf and Karla? Ellen?

"You look discombobulated Tom" "Well I just got body slammed by my favorite song." "You have a favorite song?" "Well yeah, doesn't everybody?" "I mean out of all the songs you like you have one favorite above all others; nothing else is even close?" "Absolutely." "What is it?" "It's complicated." "Well it must have a name." "Not exactly." "Crap! Here we go again… explain." "Well there's probably about 3 or 4 hundred songs that I really love." "And… what's your favorite?" "Whichever is the last one I heard."

Back in the heady days of MTV one of the best music videos (imho) was Meat Loaf's 'Paradise By The Dashboard Light'.

The song was from the 'Bat Out Of Hell' album. On the song a backup singer named Ellen Foley co-sang the song with Meat Loaf. Ellen recorded her part on a single individual track. Meat Loaf was present in the room when she recorded it to help her stay in character while singing the story.

When the band was planning to go on the road to promote the album Ellen decided not to go. Also, because the song itself was a story played out on stage, Meat Loaf felt that the part required acting as much or more than the singing. So he had auditions for the role. "Ellen had a great voice, but it was critical that if Bat Out Of Hell was to work on stage the girl that played opposite me had to be a great actress. When I saw Karla DeVito, I knew that this was the girl".

In order to promote the album and the tour Meat Loaf produced a music video for MTV of 'Paradise..'.

Since Karla was in and Ellen was out, Karla co-sang(?) with Meat Loaf on the video. Because the album and video were released together, the voice you hear on the video is Ellen Foley's. Karla DeVito lip synced the role.

So what's kept me emotionally attached to that song and that video for almost 50 years is a pre-artificial intelligence, pre-computer generated, bald faced manipulative lie.

"It's just a song Tom." "Yeah but It's like you go on a blind date and when you pick her up she's drop dead gorgeous. You take her to a very expensive restaurant and spend hours totally connecting on an emotional level. Your mind is just scrambled with the wonder of her and you start imagining a future." "Then just as you are wondering if, you know, if later, if maybe, you could, you know…. you suddenly realize that this gorgeous heaven sent goddess is actually a HE." "On one hand you are angry because you feel you've been lied to and manipulated and deceived and you just want to scream all your anger out and walk away." "On the other hand it occurs to you that she they is are still out of this world great looking and, you just spent a lot of money on dinner, and you already have so much invested in the evening soooo… maybe you ought to just play it out and see where it goes…."

I've lived with a life long crush for that song and that girl on the video never knowing that I've been the victim of a clever deception.

Shouldn't my image of the person in the song in my fantasy be the person they sold me?  

Should I cut all ties with that piece of me and never watch/listen to it again? 

Or, do I just blindly accept the manipulation and continue to imagine Karla when listening to Ellen now that I know it's not her?

With all the rapid advances in A.I. and the creation of computer generated realism, maybe we better get used to having no idea what is real and what is not.

July 4, 2026

I woke up this morning daydreaming about being back on a hot steel carrier deck under a blazing equatorial sun. In my daydream my friend Jim is standing next to me. We are decorated with grease, garbage and maybe a little vomit. We stink to high heaven. We stand calmly watching a roaring chaotic mess of other men screaming at other men while beating them with fire hoses.

"You know what Tom? 60 years from now on America's 250th birthday you are going to write about this day. You'll type it into a computer small enough to sit on your lap and it will magically transfer into a massive electronic repository where it will be instantly available to dozens of people you know across the United States. They will read it on a computer the size of a pack of cigarettes that they keep in their pockets. Not only that, your writings about this day will be called a blog post and will remain forever available in a giant global computer cloud that billions of people from all over the earth can read using their own pocket computers via hundreds of other computers orbiting the earth."

"Jim, if you get caught drinking on ship, you'll be in big trouble. Next you'll be telling me I will have my own giant computer that looks like a car but doesn't use gasoline and I can just type in an address for any place in the United States and it will take me there while I sit back and watch movies."

"Get real Jim."

"Well Tom, this is America, and as you know, anything can happen in America."

(From the archives) ShellBack Initiation - Part One

Dreaxiously. Territhrilling. (A mix of the words dread and anxiously - terrifying and thrilling.)

I’m young, dumb and full of vinegar in the middle of a great adventure.

I’m out and about. Standing tall. “Top Of The World Ma!”

Completely on my own… well… sorta… except for the Navy giving me this really cool Swabby outfit - plus providing me with all my food, travel, living expenses and a modest beer allowance.

All they ask in return is for me to obey every order right quick, right now, every time, no matter how irrational or stupid I might think that order is and maybe, just maybe, “But don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t need to!”…..die for your country.

At 23 it seems a reasonable agreement.

I’m crossing the Equator at Longitude 40 degrees 2 minutes 0 seconds West. Ultimate destination – the Gulf of Tonkin, South Vietnam.

Independence Day. I should be back home eating a hot dog, drinking a beer and waiting to blow off some fireworks.

But here I am on my hands and knees.

All I can see is haze gray steel deck 12 inches in front of my eyes.

Far above me, is the roaring sound of loud yelling, shouted insults, muffled grunts of pain and ominous WHAMPWHAMPWHAMP! sounds.

Someone near me is screaming at the top of his lungs….

“DO NOT LOOK UP SCUMBAGS!”

“YOU ARE A LOWER THAN WHALE SHIT YOU POLLYWOG WORM. YOU DO NOT DESERVE TO SEE THE SKY!”

“DO NOT LOOK AT ME YOU COCKROACH!”

I’m cowering with a large group of other scumbags and cockroaches. Eyes wide, adrenaline pumping, sweat soaked t-shirt, my knees are already hurting. The equatorial deck is blistering hot under my hands and knees.

I’m almost positive they won’t kill me, but……

….. but it’s not comforting that we are surrounded by maniacs with 3-4 foot sections of fire hose pounding on the deck, screaming insanely and randomly beating people.

From behind me, WHAMP! and a muffled ‘ooomph’ of sudden pain. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK UP YOU DIRTBAG POLLYWOG! HEAD DOWN, EYES DOWN!, MOVE, MOVE!

Furtively glancing to the right I can see the Atlantic Ocean stretching as far as the eye can see - nothing but blue water all the way to the horizon. To the left is the hanger bay of the United States Aircraft Carrier, USS Franklin D. Roosevelt.

I’m on a giant open air elevator that is used to lift airplanes from the hanger bay to the flight deck.

Somewhere near is my brother and most of my friends.

With a giant groan the elevator starts rising.

After a seemingly endless ascent that ends way too quickly, we shudder to a halt. We’re at the flight deck.

With my head down - a long line of dungarees, pirate pants, fire hoses and boots are the only things I can see out of the corner of my eye.

The shouts and insults of many more maniacs wielding fire hoses and the 'oomphs’ from the battered scumbags and cockroaches in front of me grows even louder.

My mind screams a whisper, “Christ Christ! Christ! They aren't allowed to really hurt us, are they?”

“MOVE MAGGOTS.” “CRAWL YOU WORTHLESS WORMS!” “RUN! FASTER!”

Everything punctuated by more WhampWhampWhamp! sounds.

I begin to realize - “All of these maniacs are having fun, some of them are having a little too much fun and a few are closet sadists with a temporary permit from the U.S. Navy to beat the crap out of people with fire hoses!!!!”

I crawl forward in the blazing sun onto the hot hot flight deck to begin a terrifying transition from a you-have-to-look-up-to-see-whale-shit Pollywog to the rarified and exalted air of Shellback status in the United States Navy.

Thrilled to the core and scared out of my wits at the same time I continue towards ever more chaos, noise and confusion.

Shellback Initiation - Part Two

“……All of these maniacs are having fun, some of them are having a little too much fun and a few are closet sadists with a temporary permit from the U.S. Navy to beat the crap out of people with fire hoses!!!!”

Shellback initiation is a rite of passage that dates back at least 400 years. A lot of people join the Navy. A small group go to sea. A much smaller group cross the Equator on a ship. They are known as Shellbacks.

An even smaller group cross the Equator at the International Date Line - 0 degrees Latitude, 180 degrees Longitude. These are known as Golden Shellbacks. Also rare are Emerald Shellbacks who have crossed at the Prime Meridian - 0 Latitude,0 Longitude.

I'm not sure how rare it is to cross the equator on the 4th of July but we deserve a special status as well.

During Shellback initiation, the rules of organizational structure and the ‘lines of command’ are thrown out.

During the ritual there are only two classes of people on the ship. Pollywogs who haven’t crossed the Equator and Shellbacks who have been previously anointed by King Neptune himself.

It is a rite of passage that everyone aboard, Officers of all ranks, Chiefs and all Enlisted must go through or live in shame.

(Today the ceremony is strictly voluntary and much of the physical challenges, degradation and whipping have been outlawed.)

Technically, even then you could opt out if you wanted, but peer pressure is a heartless bitch.

In 1966 these were some of the fun and games you were privileged to play with your Pollywog shipmates:

Crawling on knees or running while being whipped - sometimes lackadaisically, sometimes with much ‘enthusiasm’.

Belly crawling through a 15” deep trough filled with water and garbage from the morning’s breakfast which contains a generous amount of vomit from those who came before you - with only your nose allowed above the surface. (As the day wore on the vomit to garbage ratio increased.)

Tabasco sauce and mustard squirted into your mouth by Neptune’s ‘doctor’ to cure your bad Pollywog breath.

Having your face rubbed into the grease-covered belly of Baby Neptune while you attempted to kiss his belly button.

Put into the stocks or an open air ‘jail’ and 'disciplined’ or hosed down.

Crawling on your knees, belly and back on a hot deck.

Neptune’s barber cutting your hair into unique and bizarre patterns.

Having your manhood questioned in creative ways.

Failing to accomplish tasks or disobeying any of Neptune’s ‘lawful orders’ resulted in more unwanted attention from the fire hose guys.

A final hosing down and you’re in. A member of an elite class. A Navy Shellback.

Later at evening chow, my brother, my friends and I couldn't stop laughing and pointing at all the hilarious ‘haircut styles’ – trying to ignore other shipmates laughing just as loudly at us. (I think this is when LMAO became a thing.)

Crossing the Equator on the way to Vietnam there were maybe 8-10 Pollywogs for very Shellback so as the day wore on, I’m sure the Shellback’s arms got tired and there was less abuse meted out.

When we crossed the equator coming back some months later the ratio was reversed and there could have been as many as 4,500 sailors performing the ‘sacred rites’ on 500 pitiful, unlucky fools.

Me and my friends watched but felt too guilty to actively participate.

All in all, a Dreaxiously, Territhrilling experience.

Would I do it again? Sometimes I kinda’ think……..

For your sadistic pleasure, here is a video clip of another Shellback ceremony from the same time frame.

June 2026

"He asked me if I've seen a road with so much dust and sand And I said, "Listen, bud, I've traveled every road in this here land I've been everywhere man Across the deserts bare, man I've breathed the mountain air, man Of travel, I've had my share, man I've been everywhere" Hank Snow

Prebucket: "Yo Vern. How's it hanging?" "Copacetic. How's that new car?" "Not really a car Vern. More like a technomobile. Wouldn't trade it for nothing." "Yeah, driven by Tesholes." "What if someone offered you a new $2 million dollar Ferrari for your little Tesla?" "Would I have to drive it myself and remember how to get to places?" "Well… yeah. Of course." "Not interested."

"What's that you're working on Vern?" "I'm prioritizing my Bucket List." "And that's because…" "Get it down to the most important 30 or so." "That's a bucket list for someone that's 20 years old Vern. Not a mature++ like you. Haven't you done any of them yet? Here, let me see that list." "Are you kidding me Vern. No Bucket List should have an item with the word Pistachio in it… … and this number 6 here? We've come a long way with advances in medicine Vern but don't think a surgery for that is possible quite yet." "Oh wait, I think I know why you have a number 6. I just noticed item 7. Even if an opportunity for 7 presents itself, she must be 85 years old by now Vern."

"Ok wiseguy what's on your Bucket List?" "I don't have one. The only list I have is the list of people I want to outlive." (chuckling) "I'm not on that list am I?" "(silence)" "Wait! I'm on that list?" "Unknot your undies Vern. You are waay waay down near the bottom." "OK but aren't there things you want to do before…you know? You just gotta' have a Bucket List." "Well not a list. I have a Bucket Point. I guess if there is anything I'd like to do before you know, it would be to take a no time limit, no destination, final tour of America."

"I'd pretty much given up on that being possible at my age until I started (not)driving my Tesla. I figured they'd take my license away before that. But now I won't need to drive. So now it's a possible." "How long would you take on this tour?" "No idea," "Where would you go and what would go see." "No idea and America. It would be a thank you and a goodbye to the real America; back roads, small towns. I've seen all the big things in all the big cities."

"I want to see the America's third largest ball of string and meet the person that made it. I want to ask the obvious question in Why, Arizona and Why Not, North Carolina."

"And then what?" "I guess when I decide enough is enough I'll just pick a spot I like and sign myself into a Retirement Home. San Antonio? Somewhere in the Carolinas? St. Louis? Shoot, maybe I'll settle down in some old farmhouse a half mile past Resume Speed, Georgia?"

"That sounds awful ambitious Tom. Do you think you'll do it?" "Not sure. A lot can happen between now and then. When it comes right down to it, there could be lots more reasons not to than to; physical, medical or just mental. If I had to bet I'd say the odds are about 80/20 against it."

"That's it?" "Well that's all for the Prebucket. I guess the actual Bucket event would come some time after that."

"The Bucket being what you want done when IT happens right?" "Yeah. I want my body to be returned to the Earth. Not embalmed. One of those natural burials where what's left is consumed by the worms and bugs and ends up nourishing the land." "That sounds noble. Renewing The Land. Being One With Mother Earth." "My wife thought so too. She said she's so proud of me for helping to feed the Earth that if she makes the final arrangements she wants to reward me by making sure I get to take the scenic route on the way to fertilizing Mother Earth. I said, 'That's great honey. What route would that be?'…

… and she replied, 'Well the first step is: We feed you to the pigs..."

"So I got that going for my body. But that's not what I want for my brain. My brain's eventual destination would probably be more of a PostBucket event."

"WTlactosefreeF?" "My body aint' me Vern. It just provided me's transportation through life. I think therefore I am - and that means my brain is me, not my body."

"So I want my brain and all the thoughts, fears, experiences, hopes, unsaid apologies, etc. - all the things that make me, me - cremated."

"Then I want the ashes mixed with the explosives in some red white and blue fireworks and shot into the sky on the 4th of July while the Allman Brothers' Jessica is blasting into endless space."

"A mind bending stew of blowing things up, loud noises, oohs and ahhs, red white and blue splashed across the heavens, rock n' roll music, beer and hot dogs."

"Why? Because it makes no sense whatsoever. You know, America."

June 2026

"And, but for the sky, there are no fences facing" Bob Dylan

"What brought on this dredging up of old archives?" "Not sure but I know now why I chose the Wise Grampa blogs" "I'm already regretting this." "I realized it's because of all the recent coverage on the Internet of foreigners reacting to their first trip to the U.S. Because a common thread is all of the traveling around they seem to be doing in small town rural America or visiting cafes and iconic American businesses that are all over America. Little interest in big touristy places. Waffle houses, Buc-ees, Walmart, etc. Places where real America lives, shops and eats."

"And a lot of it involves travel, more specifically traveling by car." "Yeah?"

"And it hit me. America is freedom. America is doing what you want. America is driving way out of your way to see the biggest ball of string in the world. Or driving hundreds of miles off the interstate to stand in the geographic center of it all. America is going to the site of the Little Big Horn to experience a tear in your eye for what we did and what was lost. America is doing outlandish things just because everyone else says you shouldn't."

And it's why real American's don't just drive 1,000 miles to see Cadillac Ranch near Amarillo,Texas. They wait until it snows to drive 1,000 miles.

"How do American's exercise their freedom? By moving. By never staying still. Even if you are just bouncing around in the old neighborhood. To drive wherever you want because wherever you go you find America." "And boy do we like showing off America to the world. Jet flybys at sporting events. High school football stadiums that hold 100,000 people. Fireworks and flamboyance. Freedom is doing things to excess because - because this is America so why not? We do stupid things because everybody else thinks they are stupid. We do it to poke a stick in everyone's eye by having martial arts fighting on the White House Lawn. Why? Why not?"

I'd like to think the idea of America i.e., liberty and freedom and fun, should always be preceded by the phrase 'Here hold my beer. And we know we're stupid and outlandish and overconfident and over exuberant and overdoing it and we laugh and do it anyway.

But America stops all the goofy fun and puts down it's beer every once in a while to go and die for someone else's freedom.

America is half Disneyland and half Sparta.

America wouldn't be America without the automobile. Cars are the blood flowing through the interstates, highways and byways and carries the oxygen that keeps America alive.

Horses carried us from the Atlantic to the Pacific so we forged horses out of iron and steel so we could keep running and hiding and playing Cowboys and Indians.

Jack Kerouac knew this when he wrote 'On The Road'. "Sal, we gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there.' 'Where we going, man?' 'I don't know but we gotta go."

That's how you find America.

I realized this morning that most of the interesting, adventurous and funny things that happened to me happened while I was traveling astride my iron pony.

Traveling is the common theme through the lessons in the Grampa blogs. And that's probably why I dragged them, dusty and stained, out of retirement.

June 2026

Anyone who knows me, knows that in addition to being an occasional jerk, I also like to ponder. (That's not my edit, it's my wife's)

Sometimes it's too hot to work outside. Sometimes it's too cold or too wet to work outside. A few rare times a year it is just right to get out there and get something done. Today doesn't look like one of those days. "You should check." "Then wait…. … just as I thought, it's 9:00 in the morning, not a cloud in sight and it's 74 degrees. No way I'm going out in that.

So to productivise my morning, I started pulling up some global news snippets to ponder about.

Number 1 ponder was about race relations. I told my son-in-law prior to the 2008 election that I would vote for Obama if I thought it would settle the question once and for all about a racist ceiling. As you know it didn't. He made the problem much much worse. The recent Karmelo Anthony trial is a good example. Some won't accept the jury's decision because of racism. Others saying that no matter the evidence they wouldn't convict a 'brother'. What happened to all of us just being equal and 'American'? "No one idea has given rise to more oppression and persecution toward colored people of this country than that which makes Africa, not America, their home.” A great American, Frederick Douglas, said that 170+ years ago.

Number 2 has me pondering about the current 'heat wave'. 90% of homes in America have air conditioning. The average number of heat related deaths in America is about 2,000 to 4,000. Because of geography, America has a warmer climate than Europe. 20% of European homes have air conditioning. Average European heat-related deaths is somewhere between 50,000 and 175,000 (even per capita it's much higher). Let's put our ongoing gun hysteria into the picture. The average gun deaths by homicide in America is 15,000–18,000. So why hasn't Europe banned non-air conditioned homes?

Don't you love it when the rest of the world refuses to act, and when the U.S. acts, it thinks they should lecture us about how to do it? That's a solid ponder # 3. Policy aside. Isn't it refreshing to hear politicians speak plainly and honestly without resorting to all sorts of wishy-washy elite speech - only common sense. Kaja Kallas is the European Union’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy. She likes to pretend that she is important. She recently clashed with Marco Rubio on the Russian/Ukraine war, asking a question she thought would nail America's hide to the wall. Kallas: "Years have passed and Russia hasn't moved. When is your patience going to run out?" Rubio: "We’re doing the best we can to end war. If you think you can do it better, GO AHEAD. We will step aside"

I'll end with the most insightful and common sensical thing I've heard in a long time. A statement so true but so forgotten by many in these here United States - but put in bold print, italicized and underlined by the wonder and surprise of many of the Europeans here for the first time in America to watch the World Cup.

If you want to hate America, watch the news, If you want to love America, drive across it.

Jeepers, it's not rocket surgery

"Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man no time to talk" "Staying Alive"

When I was in high school all the other guys were envidious of my authentical manly looks, walks, talks and smells.

Times were different and there were only two sexes back then: Men drank beer during the day and whiskey at night. Woman sipped their sweet weak wine but only in the evening. Men drank from cans or bottles, women from glasses. Men cussed but not around women. Ladies used the occasional DARN! Only fallen women cussed. Men could only name seven colors without using the pre-fixes light or dark or any other adjective ending in ish. Women? Hundreds. Men smelled like dirt, grease and sweat. (bow hunters smelled like deer or elk urine). On Saturday night they all smelled like Aqua Velva or Old Spice. Women smelled like flowers. As the culture began to shift in the 80's, city raised men could choose a saddle soap or leather scent. Women still smelled like flowers. Men only knew two types of wine - red or white. Women liked Cabernets, Merlots, Pinots, Chardonnays, Rieslings and Sauvignons. Or they just slammed down a glass of their Annie Green Springs. Men ate a huge mound of Ketchup seasoned with salt and pepper that hid a rare steak underneath. Women liked things seasoned with Chives, Chamomile, Chardonnay, Cilantro, Tarragon or Chervil. Men like me had no idea what the &u%k those were. Women could speak flavor as fluently as a chef.

Fortunately these two oh-so-different species would get together on occasion to produce a new generation of sweet and foul smelling rug rats.

So how did we get here and what does here look like? Well, it's not looking too good I can tell you that.

Men are becoming more feminized. Many men today spend increasing amounts of time preening, pruning and plucking - not to appeal to women - but to appeal to what they have been trained to believe women want men to look like, act like and smell like. Proof? You only need to go to the nearest gym to witness men fluffing their hair, arranging their matching outfits, blow drying their coiff, tweaking a locket of hair and checking their appearance in the mirror? "I wonder if these gym shorts make my butt look big?"

"James Dean up on the screen Wonderin′ who he might be" The Eagles

Today young boys up to the age of 50 get in their car, burn expensive gas($4.75 per gal) to drive to the mall and shop for a scent($122 per 2.5 oz). The chosen scent must showcase to the world their uniqueness, humor, risk taking, loyalty, political preferences, gender identity, fashion choice and favorite sports team. While also being wildly popular among their peers so they won't be embarrassed by smelling like last summer's way fire foo foo juice. Their peers, and every woman they pass, must agree with their choice or their social score plummets.

What passes for a real man today can't be seen shopping for perfume so they let their wives decide what they should smell like.

Many men are just jumping on the feminism bandwagon, while what's left of the real men just pretend it's not happening.

"What the hell brought on all this anger and judgementation Tom?" "I saw an Ad." (sarcastically) "Which Ad, historically accurate smelling one?"

"As a matter of fact, a print Ad for this."

What real man would admit to wearing a scent called "Jean Paul Gaultier Le Beau Narcisse Eau de Parfum".

If it were a movie the trailer it would sound like: Scent profile: Bergamot (fresh citrus opening) Powdery musk heart Tonka bean base Overall character: amber, musky, woody, slightly sweet and smooth rather than loud or overly sugary.

And the review of the movie be like:

The opening hits with zesty wild bergamot and juicy citrus, bringing an instant lift that feels like stepping outside into warm air with no agenda for the day. That brightness doesn’t stay alone for long, either. Exotic fresh coconut wood moves in next, smoothing everything out with a creamy, sun-drenched warmth that gives the fragrance its relaxed, vacation-ready attitude.

We love that it’s tropical without tipping into sweetness overload, more polished getaway than beach souvenir.

As it settles, sensual tonka beans take center stage, adding a warm, slightly addictive depth that keeps things interesting. Vanilla and almond notes soften the edges, creating a smooth, lingering finish that feels almost edible in the most subtle way. The dry-down is where the fragrance really locks in its personality: warm, skin-close and confidently long-lasting, like something you catch in passing and immediately want to follow.

We recommend it as a signature fragrance bright enough for daytime, warm enough for evenings and smooth enough to carry through both without needing a change.

"Get real Tom. That can't be an Ad…… can it?" "Is a wild bear Catholic Vern? HEY! Why are you slowly moving away from me?" "I'm not moving away I'm just repositioning myself in relation to objects in the surrounding environment….

…. and the acoustics are better over here."

May 2026

"Get your motor runnin', Head out on the highway, Looking for adventure, In whatever comes our way." Steppenwolf

"Que Pasa Pendejo? Come on in." "What the electric hell is going on Tom?" "Whattaya mean?" "What is that?" "What?" "That…(pointing) … Thing? "It's an Electric Vehicle Vern." "Yeah but what is it doing in YOUR driveway." "It's mine." "You've been saying for years you would never ever drive an EV." "I don't think I ever said never ever. Even if I did, it turns out never ever is a helluva lot longer than I thought it would be." "And you said, "They can have my Tacoma when they pry my cold lead foot from the accelerator." "I don't think I said exactly that." "Then let me quote you something from a text you sent me. "I will get an EV precisely 12 minutes after monkeys fly out of my butt and 6 minutes before I convert to antidisestablishmentarianism!"

"That sounds like me…. but Vern…… It's a Tesla!"

"So after all this time, you've decided you want to save the planet?" "That's where you wanna' go with this huh? For the millionth time, man can't destroy the planet and man can't save the planet."

"A little history Vern, most of Southern California was submerged for about 400 million years."

"And the LA area was underwater for over 90 million years. If we could stop climate change don't you think we should have done it when it would have kept LA submerged?" (Apologies to my California peeps.)

"Also an asteroid came along and destroyed most of the life on Earth except for the amoebas and the liberals. Earth shrugged, took a mulligan and started over."

"And here WE are - the first Earth do-over. Yeah Us!"

"If, and it's a big if, we were able to wipe out all life again, God would treat it like hitting a golf shot into the woods. Just like me he would glance around, and, not seeing anyone looking, he would kick the ball back into the fairway, yell to no one in particular 'Oh! There's my ball over there!' stroll out from the trees and chip it onto the green." "EARTH THE PLANET - Episode III."

"OK then why a Tesla?"

"I want the technology. I want one of the most technically advanced cars on the planet. I want a car to drive me to Billy Bob's Bloated Bullfrog Tavern. I want colors swirling around me synced to Pink Floyd. I want to put on a light show on July 4th. I want to go from here to there and back while sipping coffee with my eyes closed. I want a car to know my name. I want a car that gets updates and keeps getting better and better. I want to be Elon's BFF. I want a computer on wheels. I want everything all the time."

"You know Vern, I used to think EV jerks, especially Tesla jerks, were elitist, insufferable, virtue signaling &%oles looking down on us gas people as deeply inferior and ignorant underlings. Like they were in some secret club with knowledge that others could not even begin to comprehend."

"But now that I've been accepted into the Tesla Owners Society I understand. I believe."

"I wish I could explain it to you but I've taken a pinky oath."

"Look, I will admit it isn't all roses and beer. Like all relationships there are bumps. This morning leaving the Gym, Eve and I got into a little tiff when she refused to obey my simple request. She refused all my commands and after a few minutes I discovered my mistake. Everything is OK now. She didn't even ask for an apology."

"Our bond grows stronger every day as I slowly accept Eve's control and sever my connection to fossil fuels. But I still have feelings for you and those other gas addicted plebes. Just last night as I was preparing for bed I whispered a silent prayer, "Please Elon, do not judge them harshly for they know not what they do not know."

"Tom, what's that word - Hypocric or something? Anyway, I know you better than that. There has to be something else." "OK. Well I'm just spit-balling here Vern, I'm thinking at my age it's only a matter of time before my kids stage an intervention - "Give us your keys old man. You parked in your neighbor's driveway yesterday and there is part of a deer antler stuck in your front fender. Besides, between us and Uber we can get you anywhere you need to go."

"Now I can say without hesitation, 'Up yours octane breath'. I may get lost but my car won't - so I'm staying footloose and independent. Plus, my car drives ten times better than you and treats me nicer."

So they can have my Tesla when I can no longer mumble, "Take me to Billy Bob's, but stop at Buc-ee's on the way. I'm hankering for some barbecue."

May 2026

"As I was a motorvatin' over the hill, I saw Maybellene in a Coupe DeVille, A Cadillac a-rollin' on the open road, Nothin' outrun my V8 Ford." Chuck Berry

"What is that crap you're listening to Vern?" "It's not crap. I happen to like it." "Sounds like you are performing a colonoscopy on a chicken." "What's that instrument, a musical saw?" "How come you think you are some sort of expert on music." " What makes you think you know more than anyone else?" "Well Vern, maybe it's because I'm a songwriter. I had a hard struggle in the entertainment industry at a young age. Which gives me the experience to know a good song from a bad one." "Give me an example." "Well, I happen to know 'Heartbreak Hotel' was a great song and 'It's My Party And I'll Cry If I Want To' sucked with a capital suck."

"Yeah well, if you are a songwriter then name one song you wrote." "Hot Rod Baby. I wrote that one when I was about 12 years old." "YeahWellAllOverAgain…. how come I never heard of it?" "It went unpublished." "Just because you hummed a song in your head while showering doesn't make you a songwriter any more than I can claim to be a great director of Porn Movies."

"I don't think that's really what you wanted to say Vern, but it wasn't just in my head, I was offered a contract."

"I know I'm gonna' regret this. Go ahead and tell me, but let me get a beer and sit down first."

It starts out in late 1955 in Warner Robbins - a little town in central Georgia where a future rock star sits in his room listening to songs on the radio.

"The Cadillac a-sittin' like a ton of lead, A hundred and ten half a mile ahead, The Cadillac lookin' like it sittin' still, And I caught Mabellene at the top of the hill." Chuck Berry.

Right Brain: "Cripesakes Tom, they ain't singin' Shakespeare here. We can do this." Left Brain: "What's with the friggin' WE? Leave me out of this fairy dust dream."

I'd seen those ads on the back of my comic books from some publisher in Memphis looking for rock and roll songs. A few weeks later I had my first masterpiece completed. One small step for man, one giant leap for sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. So I scratched out my song using my trusty Ticonderoga Classic Yellow #2 and sent it off.

"Mommas! lock up your daughters 'cause here comes the next great rock 'n roller."

"Now gather 'round cats and I'll tell you a story, About how to become an All American Boy, Buy you a guitar and put it in tune, And you'll be rockin' and a-rollin' soon." Bobby Bare (aka Bill Parsons)

(Dreaming of future talks with my agent)

"Never heard back and that's where this story ended and your ridiculous songwriter delusion began right?" "No Vern not there. The story continues. You'll need another beer. I'll wait."

A few weeks later I got a letter full of kind words from a publisher about how good my song was. Also included was a multi-page contract with instructions to sign and return. I studied that contract for days and days using all my 12 y/o knowledge of contract law. (Gotta be careful not to be fleeced before my blowout career even starts.)

Reading it, one phrase kept standing out to me. Something about how they needed a small upfront payment to cover some sort of legally-required contract costs.

'But baby, I got nooo money honey' (The Big Bopper). I knew my dad wasn't going to upfront me so I never signed it.

"And I thought MY parents were cold, heartless penny pinchers Tom." I'm sure it would have been a yuuuge hit.(wink wink nudge nudge)"

"So let's hear it."

"I'm afraid you might steal it and make a fortune." "Hard as you think it might be, Tom I promise to avoid the temptation."

"Then prepare to get your feet a'tapping Vern."

"OK, here we go - 'Hot Rod Baby' - take one.

"Hot Rod Baby, My oh me, I got a gal that's a hot rod queen, She's got a Chevy, She's got a Ford, She's got a Caddy and my oh lord, She does a hundred and ten, Like sittin' still, My heart goes thump, thump, thump on a hill, She's my Hot Rod Baby… Hot Rod Queen."

Turns out, even in my head it was a one hit wonder.

05/11/2026

"Well, I don't want no short people Don't want no short people Don't want no short people 'Round here" Randy Newman

"What's up Tom? You seem a little sad." "I'm having some regrets about how I've treated ants and bugs all these years, Vern." "Should I come back? Please tell me I need to come back." "No. Stay. It's just that I'm sad about all the setting on fire, shooting with a BB gun for sport and especially all the stomping I've inflicted on those innocent insects." "Hey! Come back Vern. It's just that I'm feeling now what they must have been feeling." "Ok I'm back but I'm keeping one foot towards the door just in case." "You know after you step on an ant or a bug? - have you ever examined the result?"

"I'll tell ya' Vern they don't look good."

"They go from 3 dimensions to 2 dimensional just like (snaps fingers) that!" "And they become zero tall like those people in the novel, "Flatland."…

… "Vern? Come back here Vern!"

When I became officially adulterated, I was 5' 8 1/2" in height. And I was very proud of that 1/2". I think it was in my forties that I was measured a few times and I realized that I'd shrunk a little. I didn't tell a soul. So I just stayed 5 foot 8 and 1/2" tall. Kinda' like my sister who was 29 years old for over 30 years.

I used to look down from a towering height at all of my grandsons. I was a giant among miniature humanoids. An imposing figure. A fearsome figure. And, I was given appropriate awe, honor and respect by those little vermin.

Then a couple of years ago, all of them grew taller than me.

So I started asking about their height and they would respond something like, "I'm five nine or ten". I would poo poo that and say, "You gotta' be taller than that because I'M five eight." (I finally admitted a little shrinkage.)

Not long ago one of them said he was five nine and I got right up in his face and said, "No way. The top of my head is just about the same height as your nose. You're close to 6 feet." So out comes the carpenters tape. I backed against the wall. He stretched the tape from the floor to the top of my head and said with an unsettling authority, "FIVE FIVE".

I don't know if it's God punishing me for all those flat bugs…

… or an inter dimensional joke or just 83 years of gravity. But now I'm 5 feet five inches tall.

But only around family members. I'll still add a few inches around unsuspecting everyone else. I won't say it out loud and they'll never know. Right?

"When gravity fails and negativity won't see you through." Bob Dylan

Between now and then I know I will pass through a phase where I'm just another one of those short people, or worse, my final driver's license won't have a height, it will just say, "Munchkinish.'"

And I'm wondering how short I'm gonna' be before… you know, at the end. Will I… you know… go before I flatten out and become 1 micron tall?

If I live to a hundred will I even have height or will I shrink into a 2 dimensional form like those poor teenies in Flatland.

So I'm not sure if I flat line before I flat line - or the reverse.

April, 2026

"I don’t know exactly where I’m going I just ride this river as it keeps on flowing" Greg Tamblyn

“You look a little confused Tom. What’s going on?” “I’m trying to figure out if I’m embarking on an extended metaphor or a long boring analogy. In any case, I don’t know how I’m gonna get from here to there. Hopefully you and I will both understand when I'm finished.”

“I’m gonna go on home now Tom. Call me when you start to make sense.” “Before you go, give me the name of a famous author I can use for my analaphor - but don't give me a hack. I want it to be a great one.” “OK. You asked for it. Charles Dickens… crap! Now I gotta' stick around and watch you squirm.” "OK Vern, put on your imagining hat. Here goes."

Analaphor One: Koln, Germany, an alternate universe, 1859. Charles Dickens is set to perform in front of a sold-out audience late in the evening. He approaches a lone computer in the center of the stage. He sits, his back to the audience. Everything he types will be displayed on a huge screen above him so the audience can follow the story in real time as he develops it. He was expecting a 16-inch MacBook Pro with the M5 Max chip and a 40 core GPU. In front of him is an 1842 Commodore 64 with a sticky left-shift key. He has a headache and is angry about the crummy computer, but, he did sign a contract.

He has no idea what story he is going to write. He has no idea how to start it. He doesn't know how his book will end nor how to get from the start to the finish. He doesn't know who the characters will be nor where it will take place.

The audience sits patiently watching and waiting for this literary genius to start.

He begins with left-shift capital I and the words start to flow on the screen above him. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….." Charles can only type 60 WPM so as he begins, neither he nor the audience know that the final page will not be finished for 40 hours.

The words and the sentences and the pages march across the screen, sometimes smoothly, sometimes not. Sometimes with broken sentences or mistyped words. He has no choice. He pushes on.

At last, the novel is finished. The audience applauds. He will never perform that novel again. Fortunately photographs of each page were taken.

"I sorta' understand your anala thingy Tom but not sure where you're going with this?" "Sorry Vern, for a minute there I forgot your IQ struggles. Let me try another."

Analaphor Two: Florence, Italy, another alternate universe, 1503ish. "Come this way Mr. Vinci. We have a packed house tonight. I've arranged your easel center stage, a table with a glass of water, some paint thingees and a chair." "Where are my brushes and paint? And this canvas is not up to the standards I require." "The canvas is the best we could find on short notice and your courier was robbed of all your materials on his way here earlier this evening. The brushes and paint are from the high school art class next door. "Then I'm done here. Call for my Flying Machine." "Sir, we have a contract. If you don't perform tonight, 'Wir sind am Arsch". "Why are you speaking German? And don't bring another analaphor into mine dammit! Tell me in Italian what the heck that means." "Siamo completamente fottuti." "Cazzo! Siamo fottuti! Cazzo! Siamo fottuti it all to hell!" (calming down) "Then at least make sure the audience understands we could be here intermittently for between 1 and 16 years." "Mosta Maga Mustachio Mr. Vinci. To start, the audience requests a portrait of some sort."

"OK. Explain yourself Tom. This couldn't happen-wouldn't happen, no where-no how. Zero chance. The Cowboys will win another Superbowl before this ever happens."

"Well Vern, my analaphorously Socratic stories simply describe how hard would it be for Charles Dickens to write a novel in front of an audience with no idea what it will be. Especially with no way to rewrite or edit it."

"Or, for Leonoardo Da Vinci to paint the Mona Lisa on a stage with no model and with substandard brushes and a limited amount of colors to work with?"

"Don't get me wrong Vern. I'm not gonna' say I'm gonna' talk about a musical Mona Lisa or a harmonic Tale of Two Cities, but it will be abo…"

"… OK Tom, gotta' stop you right there. I was along for the ride but you and I both know you have no idea what to say next."

"My point exactly Vern."

April, 2026

"I don’t know exactly where I’m going I just ride this river as it keeps on flowing" Greg Tamblyn

Keith Jarrett began playing piano at the age of three. He had perfect pitch and gave his first solo recital at seven playing Mozart and Bach mixed with his own compositions. In his teens he developed a deep love of Jazz inspired by artists like Dave Brubeck.

In 1973 he started performing entire evenings of spontaneous, unstructured solo improvisation in front of audiences.

Koln, Germany, January 24, 1975.

18-year-old Vera Brandes, Germany's youngest concert promoter persuaded Jarrett to sign a contract to perform a jazz piano solo at the Cologne Opera House at 11:00 p.m.

Jarrett was exhausted after a 400 mile drive from a gig the night before in Switzerland and, was suffering from back pain, a stomach upset, and severe sleep deprivation.

To make matters worse, the venue provided the wrong piano. Jarrett had requested a full-size Bösendorfer 290 Imperial concert grand, but the staff rolled out a smaller, older "baby grand" Bösendorfer from a rehearsal room. It was badly out of tune, with a tinny/shrill upper register, weak bass, unresponsive pedals, and some keys that barely worked properly.

Jarrett threatened to walk away after being told the piano couldn't be swapped at the last minute because of logistical issues.

But the hall was sold out and according to one story the recording producer convinced Jarrett to play. But others swear it was Karen Brandes who went out to Jarrett who was already in his car and ready to leave. She said, "You have a contract. If you don’t play, I’ll be fucked and you’ll be fucked too."

Jarrett reluctantly returned to the stage.

The instrument was too small, out of tune, and partly malfunctioning, so the high notes sounded thin, the bass had little resonance, and some keys and pedals did not work properly.

The performance was entirely improvised - no sheet music, no pre-planned pieces.

Jarrett said the opening musical phrase may have unconsciously echoed the theater's lobby bells signaling the audience to take their seats.

The limitations didn't weaken the concert; it helped define it. The rough sound and the on-the-spot improvisation contributed to it's "sense of urgency, discovery, and emotional momentum". A big reason people hear it as so powerful.

The exhaustion, back pain, and frustration ironically may have helped Jarrett to enter a deep flow state where he forgot the problems and simply responded to the moment. And the limitations of the piano forced him to adapt - playing more percussively, using rhythmic left-hand patterns which turned the piano's weaknesses into a driving, hypnotic strength.

All of the piano's flaws paired with an exhausted, pained musical genius.

Jarrett's moans heard throughout could be his surprise at finding something new or possibly caused by his back pain. The various rhythms and lyrical flights capture a one-time-only artistic miracle. A miracle not in spite of it's defects, but because of them.

The Koln Concert became the best-selling solo jazz album of all time and the best-selling piano album ever.

An exhausted, sick, agonized, musical prodigy on a deeply flawed piano creating inspired music in front of a receptive audience.

Spinning Gold from Pain and Scrap.

"All things are connected like the blood that unites us." Loosely attributed to Chief Seattle

"Whatcha' got there Tom?" "It's a tie tack Vern. Got it for my grandson as he graduates from Air Force Basic Training." "Cool. Looks like a flying star. But it doesn't look very expensive. Is that It all you got him?" "It's way more important than that. It is priceless because of the connections that it represents." (rolls eyes)"Crap. Here we go again."

"Don't roll your eyes out loud Vern. This tie tack connects my grandson - historically, geographically, and militarily with his parents, me, his great grandfather, the founding of the Air Force and Orville Wright." (rolls eyes way out loud)"Who's the next link Tom, Elvis?"

Lets start at the beginning shall we?

General H.H.(Hap) Arnold was born June 25, 1886. He is known as the "Father of the Modern U.S. Air Force." After graduating from West Point in 1907 he became one of the first military pilots in the world after receiving flying lessons directly from Orville Wright.

General Arnold was the Commanding General of the Army Air Forces (1941-1946). To distinguish the Army Air Corp from the regular army he authorized a distinct shoulder patch. After the war in 1947 the Army Air Force became the U.S. Air Force and separated from the Army. That same patch became it's new symbol. It still is to this day.

After General Arnold's retirement in 1949, He was given his 5th star because of his vision as a proponent of the formation of the new U.S. Air Force - becoming the only 5 star general in two military units.

This tie tack is that same symbol and one of the few tie tacks that the U.S. Air Force authorizes officers and airman to wear.

"OK, so Eddie is connected via the tie tack and shoulder patch to the father of the Air Force and also to Orville Wright. What about the rest. Quick before I doze off?"

Let's skip forward to WWII….

During WWII the USS General R. E. Callan (AP-139), a troop transport, operated throughout the Pacific transporting troops. It made numerous stops at Oro Bay and Langemark Bay in northern New Guinea where it offloaded new troops and on boarded rotating troops to take back to the United States.

In 1961 the USS General R. E. Callan.(* Bonus Info) was recommissioned and rebuilt as a 'Range Instrumentation Ship' under a contract with the U.S. Air Force. In the mid 60's to the early 70's this ship operated throughout the Pacific Ocean tracking United States and Russian Ballistic Missiles, Anti-Ballistic Missiles and Orbital Bombs.

Eddie's maternal grandfather (your humble servant) served as an electronics field engineer on that ship, the USNS H.H. Arnold (T-AGM-9) not only named after the General but also contracted to the U.S. Air Force.

Orville, General Arnold, the patch, Eddie, the USNS Arnold and me - all connected whenever Eddie wears the tie tack."

"Confusing but I'm with you so far. What about Eddie's great grandfather?" "My father was stationed in northern New Guinea during WWII and possibly taken there by the USS Callan. There is a slim chance that he was taken back to San Francisco on the Callan as well. But for sure, as a Sergeant Clerk/Typist in Oro Bay, he would have been responsible for supplies and troop movements - almost guaranteeing a connection to multiple Callan visits.

"Not bad. "I think I'm up to about 7 or 8 degrees of separation.  But what about Eddie's parents.  I know his dad is a former Marine and his mom served in the Navy, but I don't see how those qualify as degrees of separation."  Tell me I'm wrong."

"You are absolutely correct Vern, you are not wrong..... you are hopelessly, completely and woefully wrong."

General Arnold was born on June 25, 1886 in Gladwyne, Pennsylvania a suburb of Philadelphia. Eddie's dad was born in Philadelphia.

General Arnold passed away in May 1949 at his Valley of the Moon ranch in Sonoma, California. Eddie's mom was stationed on a Navy ship home ported at Concord, California Naval Station… a short hop, skip and a jump from where General Arnold died.

"OK, maybe that qualifies but I notice you are quiet about your brother-in-law." "Well, he's not related by blood so I didn't include him. But if any one of your relatives deserves to be called a 'Warrior' it's him. During and after Vietnam he was involved in very secret and dangerous missions. I would tell you but I would have to request that you commit suicide with prejudice immediately after."

"Air Force Basic Military Training has been located solely at Lackland AFB since the mid 1940's. Although many buildings and other structures have been replaced, the parade field, in particular, as well as other training areas, stands as a direct link to the base's history since the 1940s - with graduates still marching the same "Bomb Run" path and crossing features like the Hero's Walk."

Eddie's great uncle joined the Air Force and trained on this same field. He did his push ups and sit ups and marched in parade for his own graduation on this same field some 76 odd years ago. He stood at attention and took the same oath of service as Eddie on this same spot.

Eddie's sweat and his great uncle's sweat share the same location.

(General Arnold in WWII and later in the U.S. Air Force. Wearing the same Army Air Corp and U.S. Air Force patch.)

03/05/2026

"Like the sun through the trees you came to love me

Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away"

The Moody Blues

If there is a heaven, I'm probably not exactly a lock to get in. But who knows, just maybe I'll find myself facing St. Peter…

"Are you St. Peter?"

"I am."

"Well I'm Tom and I guess I musta' died. And against all odds here I am."

"Let's see. Hmm. Yes you're on the list." "(Whispering) Barely.'"

"What does that mean?"

"Well God and the Saints vote for each new entrant. You need two thirds 'HOSANNAS' to get in."

"Wait, you're telling me a football team decides who gets to Heaven?"

"I mean Saintly Saints not the football team you Heavenly half-wit."

"And the final tally was a myriad of ARUR HU's to deny your Heavenhood and 1 HOSANNA to let you in.

"Then why am I here?"

"Well, we are all equals (rolls eyes) but some of us are more equal than others."

"God said, (rolls eyes again) I give Tom a "D minus". Not good but still not an "F". I've seen worse so I'm overriding you guys."

"And then a chaotic shouting of ARUR HU's and saintly boos broke out. But God shut that crap right down with a handful of lightening bolts."

"ENOUGH, YOU MESHUGANA TZAKKIKIM! DON'T GET YOUR MAYTKES IN A TWIST!"

"The clouds turned black, Heaven shook and God boomed, "YOUR GOD SAYETH AND THAT'S THAT!"

"So Tom, welcome - I guess. You are good to go. Behind me and through the gate is Heaven. Enjoy your eternity."

"Where are the dogs Pete?"

"No dogs in human Heaven. No animals at all in human Heaven…. that is except for the Unicorns. God likes Unicorns."

"But, down that heavenly road on your right is a gate for animal heaven if you want to take a look. Inside, each animal group is separated by a fence. And each fenced area is next to another fenced area with other animals they shared their lives with on Earth."

"And they all enjoy eternity with only their own kind - as God intended - that is except for the rats."

"Why is that?"

"Well the cats keep sneaking under the fence to harass the rats. I think God turns a blind eye to all that. God doesn't like rats. Says He may have screwed up on that one."

"Come on back after you've satisfied yourself that all the dogs are totally happy and loving all the trees and grass and water and mud and all the communal sniffing. God even tosses holy sticks for them to chase."

"Well you know what Pete? I think I will just wander on down to Dog Heaven and take a look."

"Because I know when I walk through that gate I'll be met by Spooky - who we once lost on the other side of town and who showed up days later on our doorstep. And Rhubarb my beloved wiener dog who slept under the sheets at my feet when I was bedridden for 6 weeks and who couldn't run fast because her back legs would run faster than her front legs until they almost caught up with her head - causing a gloriously hilarious tumble. Standing next to Rhubarb will be Lucy who loved agility, fishing, camping and me with all her heart. Steiner will be there. No better Yorkshire Terrier ever walked on earth. Of course my current companion Seeva Rose - who swears she is not fat - just retaining water - and who thinks a perfect way to meet St. Peter will be with a half eaten Costco Rotisserie Chicken in her mouth - will be there - sitting front and center, quietly waiting for me to give her butt a scratch and hand her a treat."

"I will be 16 years old again. They will see me and I will be crushed under a pack of insanely out of control dogs jumping up and down and lapping my face while barking like crazy - not stopping until I jump up and take off running full speed across that meadow, them chasing and howling and barking and me laughing like a crazy loon.

"So tell God I really appreciate him standing up for me and when he lets the dogs in I'll be back."

My great lovable cats Daisy Mae and Rabbit won't miss me even a teeny bit.

02/13/2026 "I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in" Kenny Rogers

Some time ago as I was laying? lieing? lying? horizontally positioned in bed watching TV, I noticed that I was looking with my left eye closed. Why is that I wondered? And so began a series of tests: 1 - close left eye. 2 - close right eye. 3 - open both eyes. 4 - close both eyes. I was seeing normal in all cases except 3. WHAT THE LITERAL GOSH DARN! I thought loudly. Later in the day and after further investigation, I discovered that it happened when I looked down or leaned my head back.

After a deep dumpster dive into my memory bank, it dawned on me that this had been affecting my life for some time. Like when I was at the dog park and someone asked the name of my dog and without thinking I looked down and responded, "Which one?" "Or how happy I was to realize I really didn't need to tie laces on four shoes. A real time saver."

So I asked my doctors at the C. Morbetter Clinic, "What do you guys think is wrong with my eyes?" "You guys? It's just me Tom. I think you should go see an Ophthalmologist."

(Later in the Ophthalmologist's office) "Well Tom, I've run all the standard tests. I've pointed my little flashlight thingy into your eyes. I've moved my finger around in the air while you followed it with your eyes just like the do on Cops." "I listened carefully with my thermostat while you moved your head violently from side to side and even while you were jumping up and down. I did not detect any rattles or squishy sounds." "I thumped your head twice and both times it sounded just like a semi-ripe melon. All normal."

"So in order to rule out a full frontal lobotomy, I think the next step is to get a wee peek inside to look for lumps, bumps, knots or perversions." "However, since we recently lost our anesthesial license, you will need to sign an unconditional waiver because it requires drills and saws and lot's of blood and pain to get a good looksie in your cranial cavity." "Er, um, sounds a little aggressive there Doctors. Maybe I could just mount my T.V. on the ceiling."

"It's just Doctor. You might be right Tom. ("nurse, put the drill back") Maybe we shouldn't get too far ahead of ourselves. Let's bounce you along to a radiologist and then see where we go from there." "Follow the science - Medicare money huh Doctors? Sounds good to me. You two have a nice day.

(At the Marconi Institute of Radioscopy) Radioscoponist: "Is this gonna' hurt?" "No way Tom. We used to bombard brains with x-rays until something showed up. But now we use this tube thing we call a claustaprobe. 30% less chance of us causing brain damage. It's sound-proof so you can scream as much as you want." "And it'll be even cheaper. Until now we wouldn't normally take a full yellowish contrast scan because of the high cost of the brain ink. But today we can because the government is forcing food companies to remove disodium 2-hydroxy‑1‑(4‑sulfonatophenylazo) naphthalene‑6‑sulfonate from their products." "I'm gonna' push back a little on that Doc. W&^T&$F!" "Sunset Yellowish dye. Just something Bobby Kennedy Jr. wants to remove from foods.. No big deal. Our lucky day." "And your lucky day. We can now get loads of Sunset Yellowish for free!" "So we're gonna' blast your your red blooded brain with radio waves and then we're gonna' blast your brain again with our yellowish disodium stuff and see what glows." "Sounds safe enough to me Doc." "Sign here Tom."

(Some time later back at the Ophthalmologist) "So Doc, what's the result?" "Mostly good news Tom. We dissected, preselected and inspected your cranial contents from all directions." "Things are looking (no pun intended) pretty good in there." "Is it Optic Neurosis?" "Didn't see any." "Traumatic Brain Injury." "Not that I can see.." "Tumors? Infection? Inflammation?" "Didn't see any of those. Not a sign. Nada." "But you said mostly good. What's the problem?" "Well unfortunately when we processed the images, I bumped the claustaprobe and may have blurred the image at one little spot." "And what is that spot?" "It's called the Deviate Optimus Node. It controls certain, quote unqoute - behaviors. Nothing to do with your eyes. But we couldn't really see because of the smudge.

"OK, so what goes on in there?" "Hmmm. Well it manages behaviors associated with negativity, greed, narcissery, arrogance, judgementalism, procrastination, manipulation and schadenfreude ." "Well no way I suffer from any of those Doc. Any other behaviors under the smudge?" "Yes, deceit and general A%$holery."

"So what's next Doc?" "Psychiatry or more eye tests - you choose."

01/29/2026 "Welcome my son Welcome to the machine Where have you been? It's all right, we know where you've been What did you dream? It's all right, we told you what to dream So welcome to the machine" Pink Floyd - "Welcome To The Machine"

Pink Floyd's song about the 'machine' is about the music industry and speaks to the hypocrisy of the industry and how it seduces and then abuses and misuses the artists. "Come in here, dear boy, have a cigar, you're gonna go far - You're gonna fly, you're never gonna die" (Have a cigar)

Most people assume The Machine always refers to corporations, culture and capitalism itself. All of which force young adults to become indentured servants of society and then grinds them down monotonously. Sooner or later only to discard them when they no longer serve The Machine.

But is this true of all capitalism, corporations and culture? Is it true of all people graduating into the real world except for those brave(?) renegades that reject social constructs? (I sincerely apologize for using that phrase.)

What is the machine?

Baby sea turtles struggle to the ocean immediately after hatching. About 10% never reach the safety(?) of the ocean. After reaching the ocean they are met with many more dangers and predators. Only 1 in 10,000 of these baby turtles will reach adulthood.

"So Welcome, To The Machine"

Barnacle goslings hatch on the cliffs. After only 1-3 days they take a leap to the safety(?) far below. Surprisingly, about 90% will survive even bouncing off the cliff 400 ft to the ground. But only about 50% of those will avoid the necessary weeks on the beach and stay alive long enough to fly way with their parents. Those that don't jump are eaten by other predators.

"So Welcome, To The Machine" (No Barneclians or Turtiliacs were harmed in the production of this Blog. Pictures are 100% A.I. faked.)

Nature is the biggest machine of all. Microbes and bees and flowers and predators and humankind are all in the same grand earth-machine. The Machine that humans are faced with is not just big business and culture, it is life itself. Society is a machine within a machine within a machine.

You toddle around the house at the age of 3; it's a teeny machine with lots of slack in the gears and few penalties. Kindergarten is a small machine, high school and college are bigger machines.

But as an adult, you face the grand machine - nature and society and life. The part you choose in the machine will give you generous slack but if you slip a gear or gum up other gears, nature and society may deal with you harshly. You can convince yourself you aren't going to join the machine but life will force you into it. You can choose or accept your part in the machine and pursue your own happiness - or the grand machine will hammer you into the dark, painful, smelly, greasy part of the machine like a square peg into a round hole.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

For the founders, “happiness” did not mean pleasure or feeling good. It meant a life of flourishing in accordance with virtue, reason, and one’s duties in society. The “pursuit of happiness” was understood as both the natural right of each individual and something that, when rightly pursued, would benefit the whole community.

A few days from choosing to be part of a big and important machine - the military part of America's Machine. The most powerful machine ever to exist in mankind's history. You will be part of a machine with a proud part of that history. You will inherit a brotherhood with those who landed on Omaha Beach, raised the flag on Iwo Jima, froze in a lonely foxhole at the Battle of the Bulge or went down with the USS Yorktown at the Battle of Midway.

America’s military exists to protect the United States—its people, territory, and constitutional system—from external and internal threats. The military machine is tasked with deterring and, if necessary, fighting and winning America’s wars. You will take an oath to defend America and if asked, place your life on the line to do so. Your mom may still own your heart, but the U.S. Air Force will own your ass.

You are volunteering to be part of a grand machine with a purpose much much larger than yourself. You will be given all you can handle of hardship, discipline, training and purpose - all to help the machine work to it's greatest potential.

You will never be the same. You will have a great adventure.

I couldn't be more proud. Or more jealous.

"Off we go into the wild blue yonder, Climbing high into the sun; Here they come zooming to meet our thunder, At 'em boys, Give 'er the gun!"

Welcome To The Machine Eddie

2025

It's long been known that a Butterfly's wings flapping in Brazil can later cause a hurricane in Texas. And this is, in fact, a literal myth. I.e., small events can influence larger happenstances across vast distances.

For my friends in Resume Speed, Georgia, here is the science behind it.

In a recent Washington Post article I found the following: NJ-bound plane that suddenly plunged thousands of feet likely hit by ‘cosmic rays’ from a whole nuther galaxy. "A New Jersey-bound airplane that suddenly plunged thousands of feet in the air — sending 15 people to the hospital in October (2025) — was likely struck by cosmic rays from a star that exploded in another galaxy, according to space experts."

So now it looks like the reverse of the butterfly effect is also mythically true. A star explodes in a galaxy far, far away. Many millions of years later the cosmic waves arrive on the east coast and almost bring down an airplane.

And so it got me thinking.

How many other more or less 'normal' things in history would never have happened except for a solar or galacticly humongous event. Car crashes? Planes disappearing? Wars? Continental drift? The Eagles winning the Super Bowl?

I'm sure these things happen more often than you would think. After all the Canis Major Dwarf Galaxy is only 147 quintillion miles from Earth. If you do the math you will discover that that is only 25,000 light years from Bucksnort, Tennessee.

So began 5 minutes of exhaustive research on the Grock.

I know what you are thinking…

Wait! What about the impact on Tom?

Why Not?

My brain, unlike most, is a high functioning, finely tuned, sensitive and delicate machine. So I ask, how many unplanned things have triggered events in my life that were caused by galactacious or solarly systemic mishaps.

"Excuse my sir, do you know why I pulled you over?" "I'm not sure officer but let me just say into your body camera, "Go Blue. Support First Responders. Thank You For Your Service." "And honestly officer I have no idea how that c-note got behind my driver's license. It isn't even mine." "You ran the red light." "Oh, right. But you see your copship, four years ago there were solar flares on Sirius and I had no control of what's been happening this week - you know - blue rays and all." "Just sign here sir and have a good day."

"What's that puzzled look Vern?" "You know that phone number that you gave me last week? I called but I got a really weird answering machine message." "Weird how?" "I'm a little embarrassed to say it out loud." "Wait, did I give you the 227 number or the 277 number?" "227, Why?" "Yeah well, I gave you the wrong one. Remember in yesterday's paper that Mars wobbled in it's orbit. That must be it. Gravitational waves bollixed my thinking. Not my fault." "So what's the 227 number? "That's the number I give to the V.I.P. subscribers on my OnlyFans account."

No doubt galactic mishaps have also had significant effects on my personal life as well…

"Hey honey. I've just determined that some of the time when I'm an insensitive, narcissistic $%&*ole, it isn't my fault." (anonymous spouse)"Yeah how's that?" "Those times were probably caused by things like exploding stars from other galaxies spreading cosmic waves that billions of years later reached Earth and tickled my brain." (anonymous spouse) "Let's say that maybe, just maybe , I believe that... but?" "But what?" (her again) "But what about the other 95% of the time?"

"Tom, dammit. How come you forgot to take out the garbage again?" "Leap year. Earth slowed down or sped up or something, causing some kinda' brain kink… … I thought tomorrow was today."

"Off the sofa! Grass needs mowing!" "My brain is itching. I think two or three mega maga eons ago a black hole upchucked some deranged matter or something and it finally reached me." "I just can't take the chance of a horrible mower accident."

"Dog wants out." "My vision is getting a little blurry and I'm feeling dizzy. Probably another of those damn Superior Novas in some outer limits galaxy…. …. and while you're up honey would you get me another beer?"

"Did you feel that? I think the Earth moved." "Not for me it didn't."

Believe The Science

10/13/2025

"And if you hear as the warm night falls, The silver sound from a time so strange, Sing to me, sing to me. "Pink Floyd - "Fat Old Sun"

I was fooling around on my computer on Veteran's Day and I came across this picture of me and my shipmate Jim, I think, somewhere in the Pacific during the Vietnam war.

I stared at that picture for a while and wondered just who those two oh so cool swabbies were.

Young, cocky, confident, cavalier, cheeky - and - possibly 3 sheets to the wind judging from the bottle on the table.

Living life and loving life as fast as we could, we sure weren't scared of much, much less the future. Whatever it held, we were more than ready - though not really understanding that a future, whether we liked it or not, was patiently waiting.

As I stared at the picture I realized that not only did I know Jim on the left but I also knew me. Not so much now. I mean the guy on the right is that me - but not this me.

Do either of these two warriors strike you as the type who would fall asleep watching T.V. at 6:00 in the evening?

That me is still in here with this me - somewhere. But buried deep enough it would take a team of psychiatrists and electroshock therapy to find him.

My great friend, known affectionately as 'Jimfucky', passed away recently.

I sent this picture to Jim's daughters on Veterans Day saying that I missed him. What I didn't say was that I missed me as well.

All this reminded me that I didn't know my father. At least not that father. I knew him as a young son. I knew him as a teenager - serious, stern, quick to anger and a believer in strict military discipline. I knew him as an adult son and I knew him in his sunset years when he struggled to tell me what he could never tell me before. But I knew anyway.

And I think sadly I miss not knowing my father when he was 12 or 16 or 25 years old. Was he like the two guys in the picture? If I knew him then, would we have been buddies, laughing till we cried at the stupidest things? Running as wild as we could get away with.

Later, when I visited my father we would talk. I would ask him questions but I rarely got more than short answers. He always wanted to talk about me. How was I. How was my family. What was going on with my job. What did I think about sports, life, politics. He never wanted to talk about himself. His early life. What he did or what he saw. What he thought about life.

That's why I bore everyone in my family with stories.

Stories of growing up in the south, running loose, playing war in the woods with fireworks or with BB guns. Stories of being a teen in the late 50's and early 60's - girlfriends, dances, drive-ins. Stupid stories of a young man on ships traveling the world having a great adventure. That me was granted all of life's gifts and little of life's responsibilities. But life fixed that little problem.

I guess I just want to make sure that unlike me and my dad, they also know that me a little, not just the now me.