The Biting Fly

Drive Thru Ballad

TBF — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 01:24:34 GMT

One of Gaga's Little Monsters

TBF — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 02:52:04 GMT

Crowboarding

TBF — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 23:49:04 GMT

Never underestimate the ingenuity of animals.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Where Have I Heard That Voice?

TBF — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 05:19:08 GMT

When I hear this voice...

I think of this...

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Head 'em up! Move 'em out!

TBF — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 14:00:42 GMT

Techno Cowboys

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Does This Happen To You?

TBF — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 02:33:11 GMT

This is the reaction I get whenever I show up at church...

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Salt Art

TBF — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 22:54:52 GMT

A'Hunting We Will Go

TBF — Wed, 07 Dec 2011 19:45:08 GMT

Proper gun handling technique...

for the suicide inclined hunter.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

All Kids Enjoy a Pool Party

TBF — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 00:52:11 GMT

I'm thinking I should get back into exercising...

TBF — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 03:17:12 GMT

I'm pretty sure I can do this one.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Cain in 2012

TBF — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 01:18:37 GMT

Herman Cainâs Campaign Promises with Mike Tyson from Mike Tyson

Jennifer Should Be Ashamed

TBF — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 01:53:46 GMT

Do You Remember...

TBF — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 05:50:59 GMT

This little ditty popped into my head the other afternoon and I couldn't get it out...

More after the jump...

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

This Is Why I Don't Dance

TBF — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 06:18:36 GMT

The Littlest Soldier

TBF — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 21:26:54 GMT

Why Does Somebody Else Get All the Good Ones?

TBF — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 03:14:27 GMT

Save a Pretzel for the Gas Jets

TBF — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 00:18:14 GMT

Little Brothers are Best

TBF — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 23:45:31 GMT

Nastyass Honey Badger

TBF — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 00:03:46 GMT

Nobody Gets Down Like the North Koreans

TBF — Mon, 05 Sep 2011 16:16:26 GMT

How Did You Stay Cool Today?

TBF — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 01:02:33 GMT

I know some people that aren't this smart.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

My Drunk Kitchen

TBF — Mon, 08 Aug 2011 04:59:28 GMT

If I Want Any Sh!t Out Of You, I'll Squeeze Your Head

TBF — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 04:46:02 GMT

I think this could turn into a rant, so deal with it. I haven't posted lately for a myriad of reasons, but mainly because I've been extremely busy at work. There is a project that I've been working on for about two years now and just when I think it's going to get better, someone comes out of the woodwork to take a dump on everything. I've been an engineer for over twenty years and have worked on so many different systems for so many major companies, that I would bet that whomever you are reading this, it is highly likely that something you own has passed through, over or by some machine that I've had a hand in designing. (How many "that"'s can you put in one sentence?) I'm not an arrogant or cocky person by any means, but when I need input I'll ask for it. Just because I'm designing something and you see it, doesn't mean that I need your guidance. I'm open to ideas, but the invitation for you to solicit yours to me would generally consist of me saying something like, "Hey, I'm working on this thing...I'm having a problem with...what would you do...how would you do it?"
    As a rule, I start with a "clean sheet of paper" in the form of a blank computer screen. I acquaint myself with the constraints and criteria for the task at hand and I start putting down ideas on how to accomplish my goal. I go through dozens of possibilities that have potential and then combine, refine, eliminate and simplify the results. At virtually every point in a design, it can go in a new direction. Whenever I hit a tough spot, I'll grab a coworker and go over what I think is the answer and a brief history of how I got there. More times than not, I'll find a solution to my dilemma during my explanation. Occasionally, just going over previously covered territory reignites that spark that I had when I began, or at the least reminds me how I got to where I am. The coworker rarely has to offer any suggestions, just listen to my diatribe. I'm thinking it's a form of self-validation. I have no qualms with this coworker or the suggestions they may have put forth. I asked for input.
    Okay, here's the nasty part. While I fully appreciate that great ideas can come from anyone or anywhere, it doesn't mean that I should go back to the drawing board just because you took the time to explain your unsolicited idea on how I "should have done it". Contrary to what you might believe, everything isn't obvious by visual inspection. Keep in mind that when I started working on said project, I had a clean slate. Consider that you stepped in, usually uninvited, made a 6 second examination of hundreds of hours of my work and, amazingly, off your totally inexperienced cuff, offered your version of my idea, complete with insignificant hand gestures. In the beginning there was nothing, then I worked my butt off and created something. (In no way should this be construed as me visualizing myself in any God-like role.)
    New and worthy ideas generally don't fall from the sky. While it is true that some people on occasion have a flash of genius, it doesn't happen often. But on the off chance that it does happen to you while looking at someones work, let me offer some tips on how you can effectively relate it to others.
    Don't say, "Why didn't you just..." "Just" is an ugly word. It suggests that they were too ignorant to pick out that worthwhile nugget that you gleaned from their work in a matter of seconds. Chances are, there are about a thousand reasons why they didn't "just" do something, most of which you would never understand, let alone come up with on your own. You can think your suggestion is the cat's pajamas, but the fact remains that the vast majority of cats sleep in the nude.
    "I would have..." That sucks, too. Unless you are going to explain how you would have totally screwed up the whole thing, don't start a suggestion with, "I would have".
    "You should have..." This indicates that you have it all figured out and the other guy totally missed the boat due to his/her stupidity. Don't be surprised when the offended person says, "You should have...ducked!"
    "I don't think that's going to work." You can think that, but don't say it out loud. It would make more sense to offer up the situation where the idea might fail and then let the originator fill in the blank. Chances are that a good designer might find the failure you suggest an insignificant trade-off for the other merits of the design.
    Just because you said something like, "I would make something that would take me from one place to another," doesn't mean you invented the automobile. Don't try to take credit for everything simply because you stated the obvious.
    As I said before, I have spent tens of thousands of hours at this game and there are some things that I know for a fact.

There are exceptions and there are rules. Consider the exceptions, but design for the rule.
Idiots are the most clever beings on earth. You cannot defeat them.
If something strikes you as completely logical, forget trying to explain it to anyone else.
Meetings are held for the sole purpose of assigning you an additional project.
Schedules aren't acceptable unless they are ridiculously unattainable and require you to be in both Texas and Pennsylvania at precisely the same hour on the same day.

I do feel a little better now. Perhaps when I get up in the morning I'll feel like casting my pearls before swine once more. Don't you hate people like me?

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Leave Me Alone!

TBF — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 23:56:17 GMT

Ever have one of those days when you wish people would just leave you alone? Here's a little machine's version of that feeling.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

TBF — Thu, 21 Jul 2011 22:39:28 GMT

When I hear someone say "they don't make 'em like they used to", I think to myself, "that's a good thing." Take a look at this video.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Words to Live By

TBF — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 02:42:17 GMT

Today, while waking up from anesthesia of a routine medical procedure, my wife shared some words of wisdom that I thought I would pass along.

"When somebody puts a rag in your pants...keep it! "

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Kitties are Scary

TBF — Wed, 15 Jun 2011 00:01:43 GMT

A friend sent me this video. Make sure you have the sound turned up!

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Old Age is Creeping Up

TBF — Tue, 24 May 2011 04:26:09 GMT

I was sitting at work the other day working feverishly on a new idea. I had done a spreadsheet with all the possible combinations of International Building Code stairs of twenty risers or less for the allowable range of riser heights (sounds exciting, doesn't it) and I was highlighting the duplications in elevations. While I sat there under the bright fluorescent light, sipping water from a styrofoam cup, I could see the glow from the slice of lemon through the side of the cup. I kept working and then...I wondered, "where the hell did I get a lemon wedge?" Turned out to be the cap off of my highlighter.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

More Rain

TBF — Mon, 23 May 2011 05:56:47 GMT

    Late spring and summer has always meant severe storms in this part of the country. Night time storms pop up out of the heat and moisture that hangs in the atmosphere. When I was a kid it was always a little scary. We didn't have up to the second weather reports and high tech radar. We had Woody Assaf and that was about it. He did his very best and we hung on every word when Woody was reading "stahrm" warnings.  I would cringe while he read the tornado watch issued by the National Weather Service and the counties involved. "..., Hinds, Holmes, Humphreys, Issequaena, Madison, Sharkey, Warren, Washington, and Yazoo."  We also had Judy Moon. When she wasn't doing Teen Tempos, a Saturday afternoon dance party, she was giving us the weekend news and weather. People expected Judy Moon to be right on par with Woody. One elderly lady stated this fact eloquently after Canton was flattened by a tornado one night.  When the news crew was on site the next day interviewing survivors the woman said, "I listened to the weather last night. Judy Moon didn't say nothin' about no tornado!"
    Even though I dreaded those late night storms, I was always richly rewarded with all the changes they brought with them. Rain water would wash down the hill above our house to the creek beside us. I remember once when there was all sorts of junk in the yard after a particularly heavy rain one night, I found a large green apple that had come from who knows where. I ate it. The creek would reshape itself forming sand bars where none had been before and deep holes that would offer new fishing experiences. Once it washed out an area that was normally shallow and formed a pool about four feet deep and maybe twenty feet long. I took my rod and reel, baited a hook with some frozen shrimp just like we did when fishing on the Yazoo River and cast a line into the muddy pool. And just like I knew I was going to do, I caught a catfish. It was a little mudcat that was maybe eight ounces. Of course I threw it back since this creek was actually the drainage ditch from Schoolhouse Bottom.
    Looks like we might have some bad weather tonight. But it's too early in the season to wash up any apples.

What's Your Favorite Juice?

TBF — Mon, 23 May 2011 03:00:00 GMT

It's not prune, it's not apple, and it's not orange. It's...

Newton!

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

The End of the World

TBF — Sun, 22 May 2011 05:29:00 GMT

I think this is the closest we got to the end of the world today.

Luckily, since it didn't end, we can still enjoy some old videos.

Exile's lead singer reminds me of my dentist.

And shortly after Rocky Horror Picture Show (Eddie) but way before Fight Club (Bob Paulson), it's Marvin Aday.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Mystic Kitty

TBF — Wed, 11 May 2011 01:19:00 GMT

So, at 2:00 a.m. I think I hear a cat crying...

TBF — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 18:29:00 GMT

I was up late last night, or this morning I should say, and I think I hear a cat crying. Now around here that's nothing new. Somebody is always closed up in a closet or outside and wants in or inside and wants out or wants food or attention, you get the picture. Anyway, I'm checking all over the place but I can't hear it anymore. So I open the front door and step outside to see if one of the cats is on the porch wanting in. Nope. Nobody, but Violet shot out the door and I had to run down the steps to grab her. So with 20 pound cat under arm, I open the front door, walk in, turn to close the door and "FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAPPITY".
    In flies a bird and hits the living room wall. Violet, Clovis and Daisy are after it like the three stooges chasing a hundred dollar bill blowing down a sidewalk. I take off Shemp-like and join in trying to save the bird from the heathen cats who can only see a flyin' sammich, across the living room and into the dining room, then the kitchen and down the hall toward the garage. Violet was faster than the rest of us and grabbed it in a flying 2 foot high leap (which is spectacular for her seeing how she weighs twice as much as she should). In a flurry of feathers, I manage to get the bird away from the cat. It was a little house wren and was slobbered on, but alive. I took it out and put it in a place it could catch it's breath without being further tortured, hoping it would be okay.
    When I went back in the house, I went to the front door, opened it and in that stupid wreath my wife insists on hanging on the door, was a wren's nest complete with a clutch of eggs. Crap!

        This morning the wren wasn't where I had put her, so, figuring that she had dropped dead but hoping she hadn't, I checked the nest and there she was. I was really glad she was alive, but this is going to be a problem. So my plan is to slowly migrate the wreath across the front porch and to an area a little less accessible. I moved the wreath three feet over, at about the same level, without touching the nest. So now it's hanging from the shutter, kind of over the window. Looks goofy, but around here that's not uncommon. I'll wait a couple of days and move it a little more. I hope this works. I doubt it will because one of the heathen cats has a charge account at ACME and was browsing jet packs this morning.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Five Little Indigo Buntings.flv

TBF — Fri, 22 Apr 2011 00:03:00 GMT

I looked outside at the bird feeder today and was pleased to see an indigo bunting. Within a few seconds another appeared. Before long at least six came to the feeder. Click on the video below to see a slide show of them sitting in a tree above the feeder. I added the audio of an indigo bunting song.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Let's Go To Candy Mountain

TBF — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 04:39:00 GMT

Atlas Shrugged 4/15/2011

TBF — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 13:45:00 GMT

The long awaited movie version of Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" will be in selected theaters Friday. While I realize this isn't a big budget movie and as a result it will get poor reviews (and don't forget the content that so many hate), I look forward to seeing it. The fact that the book is about 1200 pages obviously makes it difficult to faithfully recreate in a single movie so they have broken it into 3 parts. Also, since it takes place in the forties/fifties (or there about) and it would have been cost a fortune to create a convincing backdrop, they apparently elected to make it modern day. I don't have a problem with this since the theme of the book is being played out in our society today.
    I actually wouldn't be surprised to see a few protests take place since the book has always been so controversial. As far as I'm concerned, it's a great story with a powerful message. "Those who can, do. Those who can't, mooch." Here's a scene that shows Hank Rearden coming home to the ungrateful lot that consider themselves his family...

    Hank is one of the protagonists of the story. His comment in this scene, that he 'doesn't care about the underprivileged', seems to stick in people's crop. A lot of folks these days consider themselves underprivileged when they are, in fact, lazy, uncreative, decidedly uneducated (by their own choice) or unscrupulous. The real "underprivileged" do need help. And Gordon Gekko was wrong, greed is not good. There are quite a number of people in our society that are creators of wealth, not just for themselves, but for many, many people. It's really sickening when the beneficiaries of those creative people are so unappreciative.
    A few years ago I was in a meeting and had the misfortune to encounter some of those ungrateful bastards. Three salesmen had come by our office to present their product, again. We were already using it, but I guess they wanted us to use it more. Anyway, they started talking about the engineer that invented the product and how he played too big a part in the company and was getting too much money. Then, in what I considered a tone of accomplishment, they stated that they had gotten him out of the way. I sat there in amazement that they would think that this would be an appealing sales pitch to an engineer. "So, you're telling me that you got rid of that pesky engineer that created the product that you make a living selling?" I asked them. There was a sudden flurry of song and dance and excuses of how he was happier now and got what he wanted, etc. I just got up and left.
    I see it all the time. Someone creates something from nothing and the paper pushers and bean counters take control. Go see the movie "Atlas Shrugged" and/or read the book. Then look at yourself and decide what role you play.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

TBF — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 22:41:00 GMT

We all know someone who's a goody-two-shoes and never, ever utters a dirty word. I guess that's commendable, but it's certainly not me. But there are some things in this world that are just totally uncalled for and requires you to scream expletives to the top of your lungs. This video shows one that now tops my list. Imagine you're just walking along...

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Post Hole

TBF — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 01:52:00 GMT

Some things never change.   One of the favorite pastimes of my youth was digging holes. I've told you about my father having to hide the shovel and post hole diggers from me because I would go out in the yard and just start digging. Whether it started as a plan for a swimming pool or a trip to China, it rarely ended up anything more than a good place to twist your ankle. Most family members learned where the holes were and managed to walk around them without thinking about it. The other day at work a friend told me he had a cousin that was a "digger" when he was a kid. I never thought of myself as a "digger", I was more of a "dreamer". A big hole in the yard would make any kid happy.
    Fast forward to this past weekend. I started putting up fence in the east side property line in an attempt to keep the four-wheelin', beer-drinking trespassers out. We have about 1000 feet on that side that is accessible by a little dirt road that a farmer put in so he could get to his bean field. Unfortunately he didn't put up a gate and interlopers seem to find the most enjoyment on my side of the road.
    I started out by driving some T-posts into the ground along the property line. I also want to add that while I was working I got mad at the surveyor all over again. I paid that twit $700.00 for a boundary survey and explicitly told him that I needed to put up a fence on the east side. He put up a grand total of 4 stakes and no two of them can be seen at the same time. Anyway, I started driving posts into the ground using a new post driver from Tractor Supply Co. It's one of those heated models. You know, when you start using it the temperature goes way up. I hammered in a whole bunch of post on my "pseudo" property line and left gaps where I had to put in wooden posts in order to stretch the wire properly. I wanted to use some 6" pressure treated posts but my wife, God bless her, insisted we need to use rail road cross ties. So, wanting only four feet sticking out of the ground, that meant the holes had to be four and a half feet deep.
    Anyway that was when I displayed my talent for hole digging to my wife. After I had dug a suitable hole to twist your ankle in I kinda lost interest and sat down to let her dig for a while. She is a much better "digger" than I am. I sat on the Gator and drank bottled water while she dug with the post hole diggers and fussed about me drinking too much water.  That woman can dig a hole.

Another Special Day

TBF — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 23:00:00 GMT

    Today happens to be Duh Niece's ~~35th~~ 25th birthday. It's really hard to believe that she is ~~35 years old~~ 21 years old. Seems like it was only yesterday in tears and screaming she was telling us that she had "shit" the drawer on her hand. Or dancing a jig and crying because the drop of Tabasco sauce that she just HAD to have put on her finger was burning. After Halloween she would talk in her sleep, obviously going house to house and saying, "Trick or treat!" I remember her coming into the living room one night about midnight, climbing up on the couch and sitting there with a sheepish little grin on her face. She was sound asleep and her eyes were wide open. My sister took her by the hand and led her back to bed where she stayed for the rest of the night, I guess.
    The career goal she set when she was about six years old was to be a teacher. When asked why she wanted to be one, she replied, "'Cause you get more tator tots!" I had never thought of it that way, but, considering the state of our educational system, it must be the reason a lot of people went into teaching.
    Anyway, she is a very hard-working wife and mother and we all love her very much. Also, I have to be careful what I say because she said she would take care of me when I get old and feeble and I don't want her pulling the plug on me with the first hangnail I get. So, happy ~~35th~~ 18th birthday! Here is a never before seen photo of her. She was mostly eyeballs.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

The Green, Green Phlegm of Home

TBF — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 22:00:00 GMT

    I truly wish I understood the idea behind sinuses. They are supposd to make the head lighter, resonate the voice and provide some insulation (according to Wikipedia), but all mine do is stay full and rot. I told you that I went to the otolaryngologist some time back and they removed the world's largest booger. Well they sent it off for a culture (yes, that's right...my boogers are cultured) and discovered that I have a MRSA. As a result, they put me on Vancomycin, reassuringly know as a "drug of last resort".
    I used the antibiotic in nose spray form for about a month. I think the only result was that we pissed off the infection. My nose burned constantly and often bled. The burning led to sneezing about a hundred times a day so I was a little worried that I was spreading the stuff. On a subsequent trip to the doctor, they changed the medication to Cefdinir which seems to be much easier on my nasal passages. Between the Bactroban, Singulair, and Cefdinir, the constant pain seems to be easing up a little.
    Nobody ever told me that growing old would be such an adventure in medical science.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Today's Find

TBF — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 20:52:00 GMT

There is a low spot on our property that seems to attract all types of creatures. During the summer, my wife and I accidently found a hornets' nest in this area (actually the occupants of the nest found us a little too close for their comfort). Later, I found a second hornets' nest about fifty feet away from it. Today I found a little straw home that I must have driven by dozens of times and never saw. Just beyond a small clump of wild plum trees right on the edge of the woods was a small, carefully woven, hanging nest. About three inches long, and two inches in diameter, hanging from tiny twigs maybe three feet above the ground was what I believe to be a vireo nest.

It's hard to imagine why a bird would build a nest so close to the ground where so many predators can easily find it. But during the spring and summer, it would be very difficult to see. Like I said, I passed by it many times and never noticed it.

The inside was lined with small stems and pine needles.

I thought it might be a goldfinch nest, but after searching the internet for a while, it seems more likely to be that of a vireo. What do you think?

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

The Longest 2:42 of Your Life

TBF — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 06:43:00 GMT

Ever wonder what it would be like to wake up during surgery? This video approaches that level of horror.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

The Loss of Liberty

TBF — Thu, 06 Jan 2011 01:25:00 GMT

    As a huge fan of the liberties and freedom granted to me by the U.S. constitution, there were a couple of stories in the news today which I found rather disturbing. Sometimes I can't pinpoint what my beef actually is, still I know it's real and I know it's dangerous.
    In California there was a court ruling that allowed a warrantless search of a defendant's cell phone by police incident to arrest. You can read the details here People vs. Gregory Diaz. Before I get into this, I would like to say that I am not considering what the crime entailed, where or how it took place, the guilt or innocence of the defendant or the intentions of the police to do anything other than affect an arrest and build a legitimate, solid case.
    It is common knowledge that cell phone conversations are not considered "private". Still, I question it because someone has to commit an intentional, overt act in order to intercept and listen to a cell phone transmission. I would say it is no different from intercepting a television transmission via satellite signal, unscrambling or enhancing it with privately owned equipment. That is against federal law. The television broadcasters have a reasonable expectation to securely dispense their product and sell it to anyone interested in receiving it. Satellite companies and the NFL make a bazillion dollars selling their private broadcasts thanks to the Satellite Viewers Act passed a few years ago by Congress. I also think text messages should fall under the same protection. If you are "tweeting", that's a whole different ball game.
    The police didn't look at the phone and it's contents until well after the arrest was made and the apparent reason it was considered acceptable to do so was that the phone was "immediately associated with [defendant's] person". But the information that was in the text message they read (which apparently led to a confession by the defendant) was cryptic and interpreted by a trained and experienced officer. His special talent (albeit not that special) to understand the message enabled him to confront the defendant with incriminating information. What if his talent had been safe cracking or lock picking? Would he been able to go into a locked briefcase without a warrant? No, he wouldn't. What if the cell phone was password protected but the defendant used an obvious password? While that isn't what transpired, I have to wonder how it would have affected the outcome.
    A lot of people will say "Don't break the law and you don't have anything to worry about." To that I say you are either, a) incredibly naive or, b) considering yourself above the law. Things happen. Sometimes innocent people suffer the consequences of misjudgment or entrapment. You could probably ask this guy about it.
    Then there was this story about editing The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I work in a huge corporation with every persuasion of person known to our planet and possible other planets. I completely understand the idea behind political correctness. It's simply the Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. This made perfect sense a thousand years ago, it makes perfect sense today and it will continue to make perfect sense in the millenniums to come. Nobody likes to be mistreated, looked down upon or passed over. Intentional or not, it happens. You show me someone that doesn't discriminate or offend others and I'll show you someone that's taking a dirt nap.
    That being said, Mark Twain wrote The Adventure of Huckleberry Finn the way he wanted it written. It's common knowledge that he went through Hell while he was alive because of the way it was written, but it remained the same. Changing it and selling under the same banner is a violation of his freedom of speech. The very idea that literature can or should be sanitized is beyond anything I have ever imagined. If you do not like something, then simply don't read it. Should you get into a book and find it offensive, PUT IT DOWN. You can write a bad review and tell everyone what your gripe is, but you do not have the freedom to change someone's words. If you are writing a book, novel, play, whatever, write it the way you want it interpreted. If an editor wants to change it before they'll publish it, then you can work it out while you are alive. Once you're dead (like Mark Twain) nobody has the right to change your words. This has nothing to do with "translating" work into another language and there are no words in that book that aren't recognized in the english language. You can interpret it and write a report or your own brand of Cliff's Notes. Tell everybody what a hateful, insensitive bastard Mark Twain was, but you'll only be proving that you didn't understand the story.
    Posthumously editing literature is like some contorted form of McCarthyism. It's an attack on the author's character and their intent. Read it and then decide if you don't like the author. I want you to have your opinion and I want you to be free to share your opinion, but you can't change a dead man's character(s) so others can't see them as intended. It is not okay to sanitize the world because you don't like something. If it actually does you harm, like second-hand smoke or flying bullets, then, yeah, you MIGHT have a legitimate gripe. But if it's just words you find hurtful...rise above it.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

How to Know When You Need New Glasses

TBF — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 01:18:00 GMT

If you are a college aged guy and are wondering if you need glasses, here's an "eye test" video to view before you go on spring break.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

ACK!rophobia

TBF — Wed, 29 Dec 2010 01:50:00 GMT

While I readily admit that I don't like high open spaces without some type of overhead structure, I otherwise don't have a fear of heights. Watch the video below and see if you feel a slight tightening of the sphincter. I can't imagine what this job pays, but if it's less than a million bucks per trip, I'm not interested.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Today's Gripe

TBF — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 06:04:00 GMT

Do those string telephone Progresso soup commercials bother anyone beside me? If you want me to believe your soup tastes homemade, pull the damn string tight!

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Spreading Christmas Cheer

TBF — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 02:11:00 GMT

December 2nd

TBF — Fri, 03 Dec 2010 02:16:00 GMT

Has it been a year already? Yes it has. Once again it's time to celebrate The Sister's birthday. You know, when she was young she was fairly popular in berry gathering school and was once voted "Most Likely to Be Crushed By A Mastodon". Each year her birthday was commemorated with a wide selection of fried grubs, a choking contest and all night bird cleaning. Often the whole clan would sit around the fire playing "Kill the Sloth" and singing "Save the Tail for Grandma". By the time she reached adolescence, she was ineligible for the biennial human sacrifice (if you get my drift). That has turned out to be a good thing, though, as she has passed so much knowledge on to innumerable generations of youngsters. She has shared her talent for such things as skinning out a rabbit with just her teeth and hands, sharpening sticks using the calluses on her feet and making stylish hats out of tree bark. Dear Sister, we salute you and wish you many more happy birthdays to come.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Today's Offering

TBF — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 00:11:00 GMT

Not much going on. I've been off for the last four days and have been recharging my batteries, so to speak. Cut some of the pasture and watched football. Took the Roomba vacuum apart after Clovis peed on it. Clovis is now scheduled for a gonadectomy tomorrow.
I was looking through some photos and thought I would post a few bird feeder pics that I took last fall and spring.

Below is a Purple Finch that visited during the fall. I didn't see him very often.

This photo shows a group of Goldfinches in their fall colors.
I'm sure they would have preferred thistle seed however they didn't seem to mind the millet. While they are still pretty little birds in their "drab" winter wardrobes, when spring rolls around they put on their best courting outfits.

Not many men can wear yellow and look this good.

Till next time.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Where Have I Been?

TBF — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 00:56:00 GMT

Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but if you put a chalk mark on the floor and come back in a few minutes you can tell I'm moving.
    So, what have I been doing lately? Well, for starters, I had a TIA about a month ago. I was sitting at my desk at work about 6:00 pm one evening and suddenly I began to feel a tad light headed. Before I knew it, I began to feel like I was slipping away as things started growing darker in my peripheral vision. My mind was replaying thousands of vivid images in an incoherent, uncontrollable stream. It was like the proverbial "life flashing before my eyes" you always hear about. I sat up straighter in my chair and felt my chest to see if I was still alive. I stood up, turned and saw the cleaning lady standing on one side of the door then she was instantaneously on the other side.
    I walked to the boss's office and luckily he was still there. I went in and sat down for a few minutes and told him what had just happened. He said I repeated myself for about the next ten minutes while he looked up possible ailments on WebMD. Within 40 minutes I was back to normal.
    Like all manly men, I waited about four days before I went to the doctor. I explained the situation to him and he said it was most likely a transient ischemic attack. They drew off a large quantity of blood (seven separate samples) and set up some MRI's and MRA's. The blood work came back indicating that my homocysteine level was elevated. As a result of all this I was prescribed Metanx and aspirin. I was also grounded until we get some satisfactory results on subsequent blood tests.
    So that and work is about it. Oh, I almost forgot...I am now the holder of a Guiness World Record. I went to the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor on Tuesday and had the WORLD'S BIGGEST BOOGER removed. I wish I had a picture to show you, but honestly, I didn't look at it myself. They dug around in there and after several minutes of scraping were able to dislodge the behemoth. As luck would have it, It didn't come out with the suction device. It went down my throat instead. Trust me, I gagged it up the instant I realized what was happening. I spit it into a tissue and gave it to the doctor. They asked if I wanted to see it and I graciously declined. Everyone else in the room went on for quite some time about the magnificence of the petrified loogie even stating it was "the biggest one I've ever seen!" Imagine my pride. I love making people happy.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

My Life: Work, Eat, Sleep

TBF — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 03:31:00 GMT

It seems that work never gets any easier. If there's one thing that I have learned it's that the more you do, the more you HAVE to do. Hopefully I'll be able to take some time off when the weather gets a little cooler.
Anyway, I've been seeing this guy around the place lately...

Sorry I couldn't get a better photo. Maybe I'll see him again when one of us is in better position for taking pictures.

And of course there's always a zombie coon looking in the window.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Simon's Cat in 'The Box'

TBF — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 01:51:00 GMT

Vlad is a little crabby today

TBF — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 16:50:00 GMT

see more Political Pictures

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Chapter 7. Ripped Apart (continued)

TBF — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 22:17:00 GMT

More of Chapter 7.

I left out the back door and I could see Aunt Ida still standing in the living room hitting at her hair. It was about noon and the sun was as hot as a six-shooter as I walked to the house. Nobody was home at my house. Daddy was at work of course and, seeing how it was Friday, Mama was probably at the beauty shop getting her hair fixed. I went in to the kitchen and scrounged around for something for dinner. Just to set things straight, our three meals are breakfast, dinner and supper. We generally don’t have lunch, although the cafeteria at school is called the lunchroom. Go figure.

Anyway, I found some goose liver in the fridgerator and tea left over from supper last night. I got that and some kinda bread Mama bought from a woman at church and made me a sandwich. I added two garlic dill pickles Mama Pope put up and went in to watch some TV. The Newlywed Game was the only thing decent on, so I sat down, ate my dinner and watched it.
I guess I was more tired than I thought, because as soon as I finished eating, I fell asleep right there on the couch. Then I started dreaming. I usually don’t take a nap, and my dreams are too strange to figure out, but this one was different.

I dreamed me and Ilene were on the Newlywed Game and Bob Eubanks was making eyes at her. I was getting real mad, but every time I started to stand up to go over and pop him, Ilene would hit me with one of those cards. Woody and Lord Cromwell were sitting in the next booth and the audience laughed whenever Woody said anything. They were asking us guys the questions and the girls had the answers written down, except for Woody and Lord Cromwell had the cards. Ilene’s cards had gibberish written on them, but she could read it. I have no idea who wrote down Lord Cromwell’s answers for him, but they ended up winning. Then I saw Aunt Ida and Uncle Lonnie standing behind the big rotating stage thing looking at the washer and dryer Lord Cromwell and Woody had won. But they were mad because they wanted an entertainment center instead. For some reason I was trying to help Woody climb over the front of the booth when I saw Ilene leaving with Bob Eubanks. She was all over him and, like Woody, I couldn’t get over the front of the booth. I woke up when my dinner plate hit the floor.

I was fit to be tied. I was so mad at Bob Eubanks and Ilene I could have spit. I picked up the dishes and took them back to the kitchen. I stood there gazing out the window over the sink, finishing my tea and thinking about Ilene on the beach in Florida. While I was pretty sure Bob Eubanks wasn’t there with her, I had to really work at putting it out of my mind.
Just as I was about to walk out the back door, I heard somebody knocking at the front. I went in and peeped out the living room window to see who it was. It was a dadgum sheriff’s car. I’d seen enough cop shows on TV to know that if I didn’t open the door, they’d kick it down, so I went over and slowly opened it a crack.

“Yessir? Can I help you?”

“Yes. Is Ruby Povine here?” the cop had on a cowboy hat and mirrored sunshades just like on TV.

“No sir, she’s not. Can I help you?” I was getting real nervous now.

“Do you know when she’ll be in?”

“Uh, by supper I’m sure,” I was sure he could see my knee shaking by now.

“When’s that?”

“Oh, uh, tonight!” I began to wonder why this guy was acting so strange. Everybody has supper at night.

“Well, son, I figured it would be tonight, I was wondering what time tonight?” He took off his sunshades and put them in his shirt pocket. I noticed he had a folded piece of paper in his hand.

“Six thirty or seven, depends on when she gets back.” I’m thinking that I’m giving up a lot of information here.

“Would you give her this card and tell her that I will be back around seven?” Reaching in his shirt pocket he pulled out a business card and shoved it through the crack in the door.

“Yessir. Can I tell her what it’s about?” I took another stab at getting some info from him.

“Thanks, son. I’ll be back tonight.” He said as he turned and walked down the steps back to his car.

I eased the door shut and looked at the card he had given me.

“Sonny McElroy, Deputy Sheriff, Fullerton County Sheriff’s Office.”

I didn’t know this guy from Adam’s house cat.

“Sonny McElroy, Sonny McElroy…” I had never heard of any McElroys around these parts, so I figured he must be from Okaluka or Snipe. He might have wanted to ask Mama questions about what me and Woody have been up to and how we fit into the moonshinin’ ring. As I thought about it, it seemed unlikely he’d just come by to ask questions about the moonshine stuff. They’d just arrest Mama and Mama Pope and go on about their business. Maybe he heard that me and Woody had been talking about the lawsuit and stuff. I bet that’s it. He was gonna tell her that we had been running our mouths about our lawsuit against the Sheriff’s office. But it didn’t go to court until September and they usually like to wait until you’re sitting in the witness chair to do stuff like that. They always make ‘em look bad that way on TV.
I stuck the business card in my pants pocket and went out the back door. Piddling around the garage, looking for something to work on or maybe a project to build, I found an old paper bag wadded up on the back of a shelf. No telling how long it had been there, but I had never noticed it before that I could remember. Opening it up, I found a yellow and blue Swan Chemical box. A lump of terror fell to the pit of my stomach. I knew exactly what it was but I had no idea it even existed anymore. My first impulse was to close the bag and put it back on the shelf. I wondered if anybody else knew it was there. This was evidence, pure and simple, and I needed to get rid of it before anybody found it.

I closed the bag up and ran back in the house to find some matches. Digging through the junk drawer in the kitchen, I found everything except matches. Jar lids, stove bolts, rubber bands, pink pencil erasers, a fork with one tine, a Sucrets box full of straight pins…I moved to the next drawer. Bingo, a book of matches. As I turned to run back outside, I realized I was soaking wet with sweat. I thought out loud, “Calm down a little and take a few deep breaths.”

I collected myself as best I could and slowly walked out the door. There was a rusty, old fifty-five gallon drum at the very back of the yard that we sometimes burned trash in. Most of the bottom was gone and there was a wad of half burnt catalogs still in it. That wet ash smell was heavy as I peered over the top of the drum. Standing there with the sack in my hand and then smelling that odor flooded me with memories I had tried so hard to forget.

I tucked the bag under my arm and ripped a match from the book. My hands were trembling like an old man. Sliding the match head across the strip on the back of the book everything seemed to be in slow motion. I felt like I couldn’t move fast enough, like I was suspended in molasses or something. I held the lit match between my fingers and reached for the bag with the other hand. Holding the bag over the drum, I moved the match to the edge of the bag. It ignited quickly. Still holding the bag, I rolled it over to make sure the box inside caught fire as well. The box had a few traces of white powder on it, but they disappeared with the flames. It was fully engulfed as I dropped it to the bottom of the barrel. The flame grew intense for a brief second then slowly faded. Most of the ashes dropped away as the box continued to burn. Then, when half of it was gone, the flame died and embers danced around the edges. I reached in as far as I could to retrieve the box and re-light it, but I couldn't quite touch it. A black smudge from the rim of the drum made a semi-circle across the front of my shirt. I quickly lit another match and pitched it into the drum. It started to die, and then the box caught fire again and continued to burn. This time it completely burned leaving only an ash standing in a curved resemblance of a box. You could faintly make out the line between what had been blue and what had been yellow.

I looked around and found a stick long enough to stir the ashes. I leaned over the drum and mixed the ashes as best I could. I threw the stick across the fence and gazed at the bottom of the drum for several seconds. Hopefully that would be the end of that nightmare but I had that feeling like somebody was watching me. As I walked back toward the house, I looked around the yard just to make sure nobody else was there. I felt so guilty. I tried to convince myself that everything was fine and nobody had any idea what I had done. I thought about calling Woody and telling him about finding it, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. I have no idea how Woody would have reacted. Stopping on the back steps, I looked toward the garbage barrel once more. That feeling of being watched rushed over me again. “Just guilt” I told myself, “just guilt.”

Cinnamon and Clovis

TBF — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 01:35:00 GMT

The newest family members. That's Clovis on the left and Cinnamon on the right. They were preiously residents of a cat colony in a very unforgiving location. They seem to be quite happy at their new home that they share with their older cousins. These pictures were taken after drinking some kitten replacement milk. They are three weeks old in these pictures.

Clovis looks a little like a calf, doesn't he?

Cinnamon is a very busy little girl who loves KMR, long naps on a towel and digging her needle like claws in human ankles.

They are five weeks old in the photo below.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Star Wars on the Subway

TBF — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 01:16:00 GMT

Chapter 7. Ripped Apart

TBF — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 01:49:00 GMT

    Here's the next part of the story.....

    A week or so had passed since Lord Cromwell bit Woody. His finger had gotten infected, but he was getting better at changing the bandage and it seemed to be on the mend. Interestingly enough, Woody laid no blame on Lord Cromwell or Rhonda, he just chalked it up as experience. As a matter of fact, the Crabtree’s were going out of town next week and Rhonda took Woody up on his monkey-sitting offer. No money was to change hands, just a fun-filled week with a primate. They were going to Florida and her father had, in no uncertain terms, forbid Lord Cromwell from participating in the family vacation. Woody was on cloud nine and had promised Rhonda he would take excellent care of Lord “Protect Us” Oliver Cromwell. He didn’t ask Aunt Ida and Uncle Lonnie if it was okay or not, but I figured they wouldn’t mind, seeing how they had raised Woody and Lord Cromwell wasn’t much different, only shorter.
    I had gone to town a couple more times to see Ilene in the last week and we were getting along pretty good. She even said she didn’t want to go to Florida because she would miss me. And though I was jealous that she was getting to go on a real vacation, I told her not to be silly, I’d still be here when she got back. It wasn’t like some girl was going to come along and steal me, considering Ilene was the first girl that had EVER come along, period. She said that she thought I was nice even before me and Woody had our run in with the law, but I’m bettin’ that our notoriety had a whole bunch to do with it. Anyway, we like each other now so what difference did it make?So the big day for Woody got here and I went with him to pick up Lord Cromwell. I tried to explain to Woody that walking four or five miles in the burning hot sun, toting a monkey is probably not a good idea. Woody assured me that if Lord Cromwell got overheated, we’d stop and sit under a shade tree until he got his wind back.
    When we got to the Crabtree’s, Mr. Crabtree was loading up the car and the girls were sitting on the front porch with Lord Cromwell in a little cage. Beside them was a big ol’ bag of monkey feed, which I didn’t even know they made.
    “Lord Cromwell, are you ready for a week with Uncle Woody?” Woody cooed in baby talk, but he didn’t stick his finger in the cage. Lord Cromwell was doing his little grin and grabbing at the bars of the cage. If he knew “Uncle Woody” like I did, he’d make a break for it right now.
    “I hate to have him locked in this cage…he’s just not happy. I know he feels like we’re mistreating him,” Rhonda was sniffling a little as she hugged the cage tightly. “I’ve never been away from him over night since I got him. Are you sure you can take care of him?”
    “Shoot! Me and Lord Cromwell are gonna do fine. I’ve got lots of stuff planned for us to keep him busy all week. Me and Coy, Jr. will take good care of yore baby, Rhonda. You just go have a good time in Flar-der.” Woody was reassuring to Rhonda but I didn’t like being included in the “take good care” part of what he said.
    “Coy, I’m gonna miss you.” Ilene piped up right in front of everybody. Man was I embarrassed. I didn’t know much, but I knew from watching my parents when a woman says something that mushy, you better give her something sappy, sweet right back or there’ll be trouble.
    I blurted out, “I’ll miss you, too, baby.” I got that “baby” part from hearing my Daddy use it, but it sure felt bad coming out of my mouth. Rhonda looked at me like I was crazy and Mr. Crabtree who had walked up just rolled his eyes. Luckily, Woody was too absorbed in Lord Cromwell to hear what I said.
    “Girls, say your good-byes. We’ve got to get on the road.” Mr. Crabtree went into the house and I heard him telling Mrs. Crabtree that I called Ilene “baby”.
    “Let’s get going Woody. We don’t want to hold these folks up from getting started on their vacation.” I reached down and picked up the bag of monkey food. I didn’t know that helping Woody was going to involve physical labor, but I’d rather tote a twenty five pound bag of feed for four or five miles than have Lord Cromwell nipping at my fingers.

When nobody was looking I kissed Ilene on the cheek before walking down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. Woody fell right in behind me, steadily goo-gooing at Lord Cromwell who was screaming like he was being skinned alive. I was thinking that he was beginning to know what kind of week he had ahead of him.
We hadn’t gotten a quarter mile from the house when Woody decided he needed to take him out of the cage and let him “get some air”. I warned him that it sounded like a bad idea, but nothing would do him but Lord Cromwell had to be out of that cage. He opened the little door, stuck in his hand and grabbed Lord Cromwell by the collar. To my surprise, he came out of the cage, let Woody put his leash on him and climbed up on his shoulder for the ride. About that time the Crabtree’s drove by and tooted their horn at us. We saw Rhonda in the back seat going nuts, jumping all around. She rolled down the window and was yelling, “PUT HIM…” something or other about his back, we couldn’t make out the rest. We just waved at them as they turned the corner and drove out of sight. You know it was her first time to be away from him and all.

    By the time we got to Woody’s house, Lord Cromwell had poked a hole in the bag of feed, almost put Woody’s eye out, repeatedly dangled from the lease he had wrapped around Woody’s neck and torn the pocket off my shirt. Uncle Lonnie and Aunt Ida were sitting in the living room watching the Farm Market report and Lucky, Aunt Ida’s Persian cat, was laid up in her lap, as usual, sleeping.
    “What kind of John Brown dog is THAT?” Uncle Lonnie asked as he took the cigarette from his lips.
    “It ain’t no dog…it’s a squirrel monkey. He’s gonna stay with us for a week while his mama and ‘em are on vacation.” Woody said.
    “A MONKEY? You ain’t keeping no dadgum monkey in THIS house, mister!” Aunt Ida laid down the law.
    “He’s gonna stay in my room and you won’t even know he’s here.” Woody was holding Lord Cromwell like a baby, cradled in his arm. “He sleeps in this cage.”   When he lifted it up to show them, Lord Cromwell started howling and fightin’ like a wildcat. As luck would have it, the monkey jumped out of Woody’s arms, scurried down the back of the couch, did a wheelie on Aunt Ida’s head and disappeared into the hall. Lucky, who was now standing in the middle of the floor, looked like he had exploded. We ran down the hall to find the only open door was to Woody’s room and Lord Cromwell sitting on top of a wad of sheets and stuff piled in the middle of the bed. He was very excited and I figured it was time to make my exit. Aunt Ida was still dancing a jig in the living room hitting at her hair like a bat was in it and she was screaming bloody murder.
    Backing to the door I said, “Woody, here’s his food. It looks like you are going to have a wonderful week! I’ll catch you later.”
    “Awright. Go on then. I can take care of this fellow. Thanks for totin’ his food.”

Chapter 6. Ilene (conclusion)

TBF — Mon, 21 Jun 2010 03:14:00 GMT

    The conclusion of Chapter 6....

    Friday finally rolled around. I was anxious about my date with Ilene, but not about meeting her folks. I had asked Mama if she knew them and was relieved to find out she did know Mrs. Crabtree and had not ever been in a fight with her. She said that Daddy had gone to school with Mr. Crabtree and that I was right, he does work at the hosiery mill. But he was probably not a mechanic because when he was in school he was real smart. Then she made sure that I understood that a person could be both smart AND a mechanic at the same time. Mama was always careful not to sit in judgment of people. How many times have I been told “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” She might hit ‘em upside the head, but she didn’t think she was better than them.
    I had planned for everything that could possibly happen on my date with Ilene tonight. I had plenty of money because I had cut two yards this week and hadn’t been nowhere since Monday. Daddy was going to give me a ride over to Ilene’s house because Woody convinced me it didn’t look right to have your Mama drive you to a girl’s house. And without a doubt your Mama would insist that you kiss her before she lets you out of the car. My favorite jeans, a pair of red, white and blue striped Levi’s bell-bottoms were washed and ironed and had a crease that would cut your finger. A brand new white shirt that I figured would look good since I was so tanned from working outside. A pair of black Wellington boots that had the straps and buckles. They also had a fairly wide square toe, which I really liked because I hadn’t seen anybody else with a pair like them. My hair looked okay, but I wished it was longer. I had practiced a whole bunch of things to talk about. I had even looked in the encyclopedia and read who Lord Cromwell was. And he was Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell, not “Lord protect us” as Woody had stated. When I took a bath, I scrubbed till my skin was red and even cleaned my toenails. I put on plenty of bath powder, a large, wide, double coat of deodorant under both arms and some of my fathers Hai Karate aftershave. I even put powder in my boots. I also had found a tiny bottle of mouthwash called “Nips” in the medicine cabinet. One thing for sure, I was not going to stink.
    When six o’clock came, Daddy was not home from work yet. I was getting panicky and almost going to ask Mama to take me over there when he drove up. I ran out the door and jumped in the truck before he had a chance to cut it off.
    “Where are you going?” he asked as he slowly looked up and down my perfectly detailed attire. “Boy have you been in my aftershave?”
    “Yessir, now can we go?”
    “Where are we going?”
    “You are going to drop me off at the Crabtree’s house at exactly six thirty. I’m going to the picture show.” I knew we had covered this topic four times this week. Once every night since I had found out I was going on Monday.
    “Are you sure you want to do this? We’re having steak tonight.”
    “Well save me some and let’s go.”
    “Let me run in and tell your Mama we’re gone.”
    “LET’S GO ALREADY! SHE KNOWS, SHE KNOWS!” I was about to have a conniption fit.
    He sat there laughing as we backed out of the driveway and headed toward town. I was a little nervous and really didn’t need the pressure.
    “You know Henry Lee, Ilene’s daddy, is the head of Shipping and Receiving down at the hosiery mill. He’s been there, Lord knows, fifteen, eighteen years now. He and I both worked there afternoons in high school. Then I got on at the woodyard and Henry went to a business college or some such place. That boy made straight A’s all through school.”
    We turned the last corner onto their street and I already had my hand on the door handle and started to open it.
    “Hold on now! Don’t jump, let me stop first! Behave yourself. You need me to come pick you up?” Daddy slowed the truck as I got ready to bail out.
    “Yeah…about ten thirty or so. Bye.” I slammed the door and started up the sidewalk, my evening’s checklist running through my mind. I went to the front door and rang the doorbell. Mr. Crabtree opened the door and pushed open the screen.
    “Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” He kind of smiled, anticipating an answer.
    “Uh...no…I’m…uh…Coy Povine, Jr. I’m here to see Ilene.” I was about to wet my pants. I actually looked down at them just to check, when I was walking into the living room.
    “Sure you are. You look just like your father. Come on in Coy. ILENE! Your date’s here! Have a seat Coy.”
    I looked around to choose a seat, but he motioned me over to the couch. When I walked across the wooden floor, my boots sounded like a horse clopping across the room. And when I sat down on the couch, the end of the cushion shot up in the air.
    “So, you’re in Ilene’s class at school? I went to school with your father years ago. We also worked together at the mill for a while.”

“Yessir. He told me that.” It was the best I could do. I was kicking myself for not practicing something to say to her parents. Mr. Crabtree sat down in what I would guess was his favorite chair. It was beside a table with a lamp and was in direct line with the TV. Reaching down beside the cushion of his chair, he pulled out a newspaper, then reached over and picked up his pipe from the table. He kinda favored Steve Douglas on “My Three Sons”.

“Ilene will be out in a second I’m sure. Make yourself at home.” He leaned forward and shook open his paper. Leaning back, he propped his feet up on a stool, clenched his pipe in his teeth, held up the paper and seemed to forget I was there. Without taking his eyes off of the paper, he picked up a lighter from the table and held it to his pipe. Three or four puffs and smoke started rising from the bowl, all the while immersed in his paper.

A few agonizingly quiet minutes had passed when out of nowhere came Lord Cromwell, as if he were shot from a cannon and shrieking like a banshee. He hit the stool then flew into Mr. Crabtree’s newspaper. Mr. Crabtree’s pipe dropped out of his now open mouth and fell between his legs. Lord Cromwell leapt to the floor, shredding the newspaper then disappeared under the couch. Mr. Crabtree was now standing up brushing the tobacco embers from his crotch. I did my best to remain calm.

“RHONDA! Come get this bless-ed monkey! NOW!” It was obvious that Mr. Crabtree and Lord Cromwell did not willingly share control of the household. Before I knew what had happened, Lord Cromwell came out from under the couch and grabbed my boot. Without hesitation, he started biting my toe and running his hands up my pants. Then, his head was up my pants leg and his hot little hands were pulling at my calf like he was trying to climb a tree. Rhonda ran into the room.

“EEEK! I’m sorry Coy.” She knelt down between the couch and the coffee table and started pulling Cromwell from my pants leg. His grip loosened and he stopped screeching. She talked softly to him as she stood up and cradled him in her arms.

“Sorry about that.” Rhonda walked out of the room just as Ilene came in.

“Hi! I’m ready.” Ilene walked over to her father and kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll be back around ten or so.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” I finally said something appropriate. We went outside, down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

“How’d you like my father?”

“He was awright. He thought I was some doctor though.”

    Ilene started laughing. “Did he say, ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume?’?”
    “Yeah, he did.” I was a little uneasy with her laughter and my lack of understanding about what was so funny.
    “He says that to nearly everybody that comes to the door. It’s just something he does.” She was still smiling at me and then deliberately bumped her shoulder against mine as we walked along.
    “I’ve really looked forward to seeing you tonight.” I told her without looking at her. Actually, with each step I was looking at the toe of my boot where Cromwell had bitten it. There were several tiny tooth holes and dozens of scratches on my nice black boots. You could see the natural leather color in each of the scratches. Dadgum monkey.
    “Good. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, too.” she said, then reached over and took my hand as we walked along. I quickly forgot about my monkey-scarred boots.

Chapter 6. Ilene (part two)

TBF — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 03:58:00 GMT

More of Coy, Jr. ...

    I could hear Woody inside the house. He must have gotten over his quiet period and was warming up to Rhonda or, perhaps, Cromwell. It sounded like he was doing his Dean Martin impression, which was fairly good, but I can’t imagine doing it in public. “I’m going over to the couch now.”
    I could hear Rhonda laughing, which was unfortunate because it would encourage him to continue. Then I heard Woody talking baby talk, hopefully to Cromwell. A couple of seconds later, they walked out onto the porch and Cromwell was sitting on Woody’s shoulder.
    “Looky here Coy, Jr., me and Lord Cromwell are buddies! Yeah, we done kissed and made up.” Woody was puckering his lips at Cromwell and scratching him with his good pointing finger. It looked like the other hand had a bed sheet wrapped around it. They must have used an entire roll of gauze. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that his hand had been amputated at the wrist. Cromwell appeared content sitting on Woody’s shoulder. Like I said before, they must be able to communicate through some basic primal language.
    We sat around for awhile longer, Woody totally enamored with Cromwell. He must have forgotten that he wanted to go out with Rhonda. Not that it was ever going to happen, but it was strange that Woody wasn’t at the very least trying to make time with her. The most amazing thing was that Rhonda acted like she was fond of Woody. I was certain that she knew we were Povines. That always mattered to most folks outside our “circle” of acquaintances. Really it was probably more like a bent up hula-hoop of acquaintances than a circle. It appeared that Rhonda was as nice as Ilene.
    “Woody, we need to head on home I reckon.” I stood up from the steps, and turned to see if he heard me. Woody was sitting there with his eyes closed while Cromwell was inspecting his scalp. Every so often, Cromwell would grab something with his fingers and poke it in his mouth. It made my skin crawl to even want to think about what it could be. Rhonda reached over and took the monkey from Woody’s shoulder.
    “Rhonda, if you ever need anybody to baby-sit Cromwell, all you got to do is let me know. I think me and this fellow would have a blast.” Although they got off to a shaky start, Woody was excited about his new friend.

          “You two sure did hit it off, I mean after he bit you. He does seem to like you better than most folks,” Rhonda said. “I hope your finger is okay. Be sure to change the bandage often.”
    “Awright Coy, Jr., let’s hit the road.” Woody stood up, stretched and got one more rub on Cromwell’s fur.
    “See you later Ilene. Bye Rhonda.” I squeezed Ilene’s hand a little before I let go and walked out onto the sidewalk.
    “See you Friday!” Ilene said just as I turned toward the street. I cringed at the thought of what Woody was fixing to say. But to my surprise, he just kept walking, not even giving me one of his grins.
    We had walked down to the corner and were about to cross the street when Woody finally asked, “What you and Ilene doing Friday?”
    “Oh, nothing. We’re just going to the picture show.”
    “You gonna get your Daddy to drive you?”
    “I’ll get somebody to drop me off at Ilene’s and we’ll walk from there.”
    “Awright…you gonna get to meet her folks. That’s important you know.”
    “Uh…yeah” I stammered. I hadn’t even thought about that part. I had never met her father. Her mother had helped with some of our school class parties when I was a kid. I remembered the valentine cookies she made were always hard as a rock and had that glittery sugar stuff on them. I thought it was glass. Ilene’s father worked at the hosiery mill, a mechanic or something. I had seen him a time or two, but that was about it. Never actually met the man.
    “Man, I sure do want a monkey like that Lord Cromwell. You know Rhonda’s daddy named him that. After the some history fellow what seized an island. Lord protect us Oliver Cromwell, that’s his real name. Did you know he was a squirrel monkey and she got him out of the back of an Archie & Jughead comic book? Sixteen dollars and two dollars shipping. And did you see how smart he was?”
    "Woody, he nearly bit your finger off. What if he has rabies or something?”
    “Naw, he ain’t got no rabies. I saw his tag from the doctor. He was just getting used to me. But it does hurt. He bit it clear to the bone.”

    Woody held up his bandage and inspected it. It was turning pink on the end from blood.
    “Woody, that thing is bleeding pretty bad. What if you needed to go to the doctor with it?”
    “It is kinda throbbin’. I’ll just take me some aspirin when I get to the house.”
    “Well hold it up higher than your heart and it will quit that throbbin’. I slammed my hand in the car door once and I had to hold it over my head for two days.” Woody raised his hand over his head and held it there as we walked.
    “It has quit throbbin’, but it still aches. That bugger has got some teeth. I learned one thing today. Don’t never, ever point at no squirrel monkey."

Chapter 6. Ilene

TBF — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 04:35:00 GMT

    I thought I would post a little more of the book, Coy, Jr. This is the first part of Chapter 6, when Coy takes up where he left off with Ilene Crabtree.  Keep in mind that Coy is only 15 years old and growing up in a time when there wasn't a steady stream of sexual inuendos flowing through the TV, movies and tabloid magazines.  He is truly clueless when it comes to girls.

Chapter 6. Ilene

    It was a blistering hot Monday afternoon and me and Woody had caught a ride to the parts place with Uncle Lonnie, who was headed over to Goat Run to look at some rabbits. We picked up some master links and half links for Woody’s mini-bike’s chain and started to walk back home. Our trip was going to take us right past Ilene Crabtree’s house, which I can’t claim to be by accident. Before I left the house I made double sure all the swelling had gone out of my face. The last thing I needed was to have to explain that I had an abusive Mama.

Ever since that day when Ilene asked me to the school dance, I knew what a moth felt like being drawn to a flame. I was absolutely scared to death, but hoped to catch a glimpse of her anytime I was in town. When we got there, she was sitting out on the front porch steps.
“There’s ol’ Ilene Crabtree, Coy, Jr. You gonna say hi?” Woody was grinning like a possum eating grapes and steadily elbowing me in the side.

“Of course I’m going to say hi. But you got to act right. Promise you will.” I didn’t trust Woody any farther than I could throw him. If anybody could say the wrong thing, it was Woody.

    When we got a little closer, she put one hand above her eyes to block out the sun and waved at us with the other. One minute later we were sitting on the Crabtree’s front porch talking about school and stuff with Ilene. She was telling us about one of the teachers fussing at somebody, but I wasn’t really listening. I was looking at her and thinking. And I’ve got to say, this was the first time I had ever thought about stuff like this. The more I looked at her, the more I realized how little attention I had ever paid her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back away from her face by a wide, blue hairband. Her hair fell softly down her back, to just below her shoulders. It was so straight and neat, not a single hair sticking out, but it didn’t really look fixed or nothing. It was just pretty and shiny. I could tell it smelled good just by looking at it. Whenever she moved her head a ripple would go through her hair like when a rock hits pond water. Her brown eyes were always kinda half shut, but would fly wide open every now and then when she said something important or surprising. She had a hint of a giggle in her voice most of the time. I counted seventeen little freckles on her cheeks and nose. They seemed to stand out since she had been in the sun for a while. And her teeth were as straight as any I had ever seen, even on TV. Her lips were pink and smooth, not wrinkled like I always thought lips were supposed to be. You could see that she had pierced ears, but she wasn’t wearing any earrings. The lobes of her ears looked like they would be as soft as a marshmallow. I wanted to reach over and pinch them. I started looking at the curve of her neck. It was graceful the way it seemed to flow down to her shoulders. I had seen her nearly every school day since I could remember and some way, some how, I just didn’t notice that she was so attractive. And then I started thinking about the fact that I had never thought of anybody as being beautiful unless somebody else did too. Everybody thought Wanda Jo Suggs was pretty. But nobody had ever mentioned the fact that Ilene Crabtree was downright fine.
    My study was interrupted by a screeching sound coming from inside the house. It was a familiar sound, but I couldn’t put my finger on just where I had heard it before. Woody had jumped up and was cocking his head side to side to get a better listen. He had a look on his face like somebody had asked him the square root of seven thousand. The screeching kept on and lured Woody all the way over to an open window.
    “Ilene, what on earth is making that racket?” Woody asked, “Have you got a baby brother or something?”
    “Woody, that doesn’t sound like a baby brother to me. It kinda sounded like a baby pig.” I said without considering that it might actually be a baby brother or something.
    “Yeah, Woody. I guess you could say it’s my baby brother.   That’s Cromwell.” Ilene was beginning to frown a little.

“Cromwell? You got a brother named Cromwell? Coy don’t we got some Cromwells in our family?” Woody was as serious as he could be.

   “Naw, Woody. I don’t know of any…” I was getting embarrassed because I just called her brother a pig.
    “I’ll bet you don’t have a Cromwell like our Cromwell.” You could see Ilene was not happy about this Cromwell fellow at all. The screeching had stopped and Ilene’s big sister Rhonda walked out the front door with something sitting up on her shoulder. I did a double take then realized it was a MONKEY! Woody had stopped dead in his tracks. The monkey wasn’t making a sound. It was sitting there staring at Woody. And Woody was doing the same thing. The monkey leaned over and put his little hands further out on Rhonda’s shoulder, looking at Woody and sniffing the air. Woody started to slowly move around Rhonda, never breaking eye contact with the monkey. Woody and that monkey were just like two dogs meeting for the first time. I was waiting on one of them to sniff the other one’s back end.
    “Fellows, meet Lord Oliver Cromwell,” Rhonda introduced him like he was guest speaker at the Lion’s Club. Then, I swear that monkey smiled. Never being one easily fooled by false gestures of friendship, Woody was still wary of him, but was beginning to move a little easier.
    “Can I touch him?” Woody whispered, never taking his eyes off of Cromwell.
    “Sure. Just be easy with him,” Rhonda cautioned as she wrapped his leash around her fingers a couple of more times.
    With his pointing finger extended, Woody slowly moved his arm toward Cromwell. Cromwell was smiling again as Woody got closer. Woody was smiling, too. And then, like a dadgum cobra, that monkey’s fangs popped out and he latched onto Woody’s finger. He grabbed a hold to Woody’s arm with his hands and feet while wrapping his tail around him and stayed clamped down on his finger.
    Rhonda had a look of panic on her face as she desperately tried to peel the monkey’s hands away from Woody’s arm. Woody was standing on his tiptoes showing his teeth to Cromwell and making a hissing noise. They must have communicated on some primal basis, because Cromwell let out a blood-curdling screech and leapt onto Rhonda’s head. I could tell things were getting under control now because you could see it on the girls’ faces. It must be normal for him to sit on her head.
    Woody was still holding his finger out. He didn’t say a word, just changed his hissing sound to an inward sucking noise. Blood was dripping off his finger and splattering onto the gray boards of the porch floor.
    "Are you okay? We need to clean that bite right away and put some ointment on it,” Rhonda said as she reached above her head and stroked Cromwell. “He’s had shots…he doesn’t have any diseases.” Rhonda reassured as she reached out with her free hand and took Woody’s arm. Woody had an expression of total astonishment on his face, he would look at Rhonda and then look at his finger. Rhonda, then his finger again.
    Rhonda walked over to the screen door, Cromwell on her head and leading Woody by the arm. Opening the door, they disappeared into the darkness of the house, Rhonda apologizing to Woody and scolding Cromwell in baby talk, Woody never saying a word.
    “Daddy said if he bit one more person, he was gonna hafta go. Rhonda is going to be very upset. That monkey is like a baby to her.” I could tell Ilene was worried about the situation.
    “Then don’t tell your father. It’s just Woody. I promise he’s been bit by worse things than a monkey. And in worse places for sure.” We started laughing and sat back down on the steps. Things got quiet as I leaned back and propped my elbows on the next step up. I looked out into the yard, not really focusing on anything, just feeling uneasiness creeping up on me. Ilene was sitting a step below me facing toward the yard, bent a little at the waist, her arms crossed and on her knees. I looked down at her, noticing how small her waist was and how neatly her shirt was tucked into her jeans. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at me. I quickly darted my eyes upward then back down to her face, trying to be nonchalant.
    “What are you looking at?” she said teasingly with a grin on her face.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t…I wasn’t…I mean I…” words stumbled out of my mouth as I grew increasingly red.
    “Yes you were. You were looking at me, weren’t you?” she continued to grin, never taking her eyes off of my face. I was completely lost at that moment with no idea of what the right answer might be. This was uncharted territory.
    “Yes, I was looking at you.”
    “Why?” The word lingered on her lips. I could feel the blood rushing to my face and ears. Should I make up something, tell her she had a bug on her back, tell her she sat in something, or had a hole in her shirt? I almost jumped up and ran. Then she leaned back, put one hand on my knee, the other on the step and brought herself up beside me.
    “Why were you looking at me, Coy?”
    “I like to look at you.” I said it, but it felt like somebody else did. She was still smiling.
    “I like for you to look at me. And I like looking at you, too.” She gave my knee a squeeze and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. This was the greatest event in the recorded history of mankind. I realized that I had been waiting my entire life for this moment and didn’t even know it.
    “Your eye looks a little puffy...have you been in a fight?” Ilene was squinting one eye and kind of leaning back looking at my face. I could tell she was comparing my eyes with one another. Now I was going to have to explain how it happened and that’d be it. Nobody wants to get involved with a bunch of rednecks like my family.
    “Uh...naw...I haven’t been in a fight.” My first lie to Ilene. I hated it.
    “It looks kind of swollen and a little dark underneath.”
    “Oh, I know. It was from last week. I stepped on a rake and it flew up and hit me!” God, now I was using Woody’s lies. I was gonna screw this whole thing up before I even got started. Nobody with a half a grain of sense would believe that one.
    “Kinda like the Three Stooges, huh?” Ilene grinned and poked me in the ribs with her finger.
    “Want to go to the picture show Friday night?” I figured I better nip this thing in the bud. This was a bold move, but I was on guard for the rug to get snatched out from under me at any moment.
    “Sure. That’d be fun.” She said and I could have sworn she blew in my ear.
    “Okay. Then you’ll meet me there?” This was getting easier as we went along.
    “How about you come over here and we’ll walk together. About six-thirty?” Ilene asked.
    “Yeah. I’ll come over here.” This was a piece of cake I thought to myself. A big ol’ piece of cake. In reality, she had me eating out of her hand and I didn’t want to stop.

Today's Find

TBF — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 05:06:00 GMT

Today I was loading some gravel to put on a ditch bank and something in one shovelful of rocks caught my eye...

It looked like some kind of fossil.

It had an interesting pattern.

Then I turned it over...

A very nice little coral fossil.

Actually, it is fairly large considering it came out of some #3 gravel.

You can only find fossils if you keep your eyes open. So keep looking!

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

A Turbo Encabulator for the Hootis

TBF — Sun, 30 May 2010 05:07:00 GMT

Since I realized I was having problems with side fumbling and already had a drawn reciprocation dinglearm, I've decided to try swapping out the old Hootis transmission for a surplus turbo encabulator I picked up at a government liquidation auction. Hopefully it will reduce that irritating sonesoidal replineration.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

Not a Pretty Sight

TBF — Thu, 27 May 2010 21:03:00 GMT

This isn't pretty at all. As a matter of fact, it's sickening...in more ways than one. Click <MORE> below for a live feed of the oil gushing into the gulf. The only reason I'm posting this is in hopes it will go away very soon. These are live feeds so they may freeze or not come up at all, so be patient. For more information about the health hazards this spill poses, click here.

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly

The Ottercoon

TBF — Thu, 27 May 2010 01:32:00 GMT

Busted Hootis

TBF — Sun, 23 May 2010 17:23:00 GMT

Well, the hootis is in for repair. The transmission wasn't quite strong enough to hold up to the impact loading I put it through. The other day I was moving some dirt and I heard a little rattling/grinding sound coming from the transmission. Within seconds it became a popping sound followed by some bucking and jumping. I managed to get back to the shed in high gear, but the lower gears were shot.
So I pulled the transmission so I could see if it was worth saving. I've done some transmission repair on lawn tractors before and discovered it was just about the same cost to replace the entire transmission than to buy some gears and replace them. Unfortunately, that's not the case this time. A new transmission is a little over $1000.00 and a used one goes for about $250.00. Either way I had to pull out the old one so I could repair or replace it. Considering it has a back hoe built around it, I figured it would be a little difficult to get out, but that wasn't the case.

The extricated gear box...
Of course a couple of bolts broke off when I was trying to open it up. Steel bolts always need anti-seize when used in aluminum. These bolts have been in for about 14 years...

Next, remove the brake....

Brake pads and rotor are okay....

Remove the gear shift. Uh-oh! First sign of trouble. Look in the little pool of oil down in that hole. WAITER! There's a tooth in my lube!

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here...

Yep, lot's of damage. Notice missing teeth on the reversing idler gear.

Looks like the tooth fairy's dumping grounds. Obviously some of these gears were "gumming it" considering that pile of broken teeth.

The final drive pinion has a little bit of superficial damage, but hopefully not enough to matter. I'm not going to replace this one. I'll probably wish I had...

Gears that will be replaced. Total cost, about $125.00 and some lube.

To be continued....

Copyright 2011 The Biting Fly