First of all, for those who commented that they had never heard of the movie Igor, let me say that obviously you have no five-year-olds around. Among the preschool crowd, Igor is all that. Some among you and you know who your are, still doubt that I live in an actual inhabited area. Please excuse the poor quality of my photos, but I want to enter them into evidence. It was dark and I didn't want to take flash photos of people trying to eat. Oh, let's just say it, I didn't want to get pummeled. This is a place called Beyond Bread that we go to often because it is about two minutes from our house. Please note the actual people in the restaurant. This guy s helping himself to the free bread that is available for one and all. The restaurant slices up the excess bread and the ends of loaves and puts it out for the customers to enjoy. Some enjoy it so much that others, Mrs, Sneed for example, won't touch the stuff. I rather enjoy all breads, but my favorite is free bread. This fellow is reading the menu and trying to decide what he will eat, from the many fine choices. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

For Sale, 535 Weasels.

"Stand with anybody that stands RIGHT. Stand with him while he is right and PART with him when he goes wrong."--Abraham Lincoln The big bailout bill went down in flames today. When we needed leaders, all we could muster was petty politicians. Disgusting. My little sidekick Aiden and I spent the day goofing around. He is out of school for three weeks, because of a year-around school schedule, so we had lunch and then went to see the movie Igor. We had a great time. This is the second time in three days that I've seen Igor. The lovely Mrs. Sneed and I took Noah on Saturday. The things you have to do for grandkids. Sheesh! Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

We wrap up our virtual tour of downtown Hooterville with a couple of final photos. This is a classic barrio two-family home. It is brick, maybe adobe, with a stucco finish. The home has thick walls and limited windows, which helps to keep the interior cool. This home was built in 1904 and has been restored. This building is part of what is called the Rialto Theater block, anchored by the...wait for it...the Rialto Theater. The mural covers the west wall of the block. I'm not sure who painted it. The theater was built in 1919 and has been closed and opened many time since. It has been a stage theater, a movie theater, a porno movie house and was even used for storage by a furniture company. It is now open as a special events venue (I think). Across the street is the Congress Hotel, made most famous as a key location in the capture of John Dillinger in Hooterville on January 23rd, 1934. Dillinger and his gang had been on a crime spree across the Midwest and were the top target for law enforcement agencies everywhere. Dillinger and his gang headed to Tucson to lay low. A few days earlier, the Hotel Congress caught fire and two of the guests, Dillinger henchmen, Charles Markley and Russel Clark, paid two local firemen $12 to go into the fire and retrieve their possessions. One of the firemen recognized Clark from a magazine photo and notified police. The police traced the delivery of the bags to an address on N. 2nd Avenue and while they had the place staked out, Dillinger arrived and was taken into custody. Dillinger asked that the news of his capture not be reported because he said it would be an embarrassment if people found out that he was captured by a small-town hick police force. It didn't work though, every year we have a Dillinger Days festival to celebrate the 1930's and the capture of Dillinger. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Things Will Be Great, When You're Downtown

Some people wonder if anyone besides the Sneeds live in Hooterville? Apparently, the lack of people in yesterday's photos surprised some folks, if the comments are to be believed. For instance, there's this, Hmm, once again, great photos, but no people. Iiiinteresting.--Megan (IIiiintersting? Too much BevMo?), or this, -- Merle must be up pretty early in the morning to get pix with no people.--D. Chedwick or this, I thought you said people lived in your area?--Coffee Messiah. Allow me to assure you that people do live here in Hooterville, about a million of them by most counts. You can pretty much stroll quite alone in downtown Hooterville. In the summer anyway. Downtown is almost exclusively governmental and government-related activity. There is virtually no retail to bring ordinary citizens downtown. Downtown is chock-full of lawyers and bureaucrats, but they are inside their offices or in their cars. They only appear on the street long enough to grab lunch. I took these pictures at two in the afternoon, which should dispel Ched's 'early to rise' theory. Anyone with the regular amount of sense was inside. Even the homeless guys were sitting in the shade. The MacArthur Building is about a hundred years old and is among the more interesting structures downtown. It is reminiscent of the Flatiron Building, except that it is much shorter. The building was built as a hotel, but later converted to offices. A large publishing company recently bought the MacArthur and will be renovating the inside of the structure for its operations. This is the main branch of the public library. I've always wondered if the library was designed to remind us of the MacArthur? The library is conveniently located in central downtown, where it is easily accessible to the 100 or so permanently homeless folks who call its grounds home. A couple of the usual suspects are visible in the lower left of the photo. Regular library patrons tend to use the various branches of the library, throughout the community, seeing no reason to visit our main branch. The operation of our library system was recently transferred from the City of Hooterville to the Pima County government. The City had no money to upgrade the system, but apparently the County did. The retirement-eligible employees were allowed to retire on pension from the City and were then hired back into their regular jobs by the County. Isn't government great? This sculpture graces the front of the downtown library. It is called "Sonora" (the Mexican state which abuts Arizona), by artist David Black. Mr. Black used red to soften the black and white of the library. Cynical Hootervillians suggested that Black had sold the City a kooky idea that bore no relationship to either Hooterville or Sonora. Some have suggested that his original idea was to put the structure in Akron, where it was to be called, The Snowtire. I cannot confirm that. If you look in the lower right corner of the page you may catch a glimpse of the rarely seen pedestrians. This is two shots of our old county courthouse, built in 1928. It is a blend of Southwestern, Mission and Moorish styling. The exterior of the concrete dome is a mosaic of blue tile. It is still in use as a courthouse and as well as containing the Assessor's and County Recorder's offices. Most of the court functions were moved to the new courthouse, a giant square monstrosity, in 1972. I coaxed a few Hootervillians out of their cars to play the role of pedestrian for this photo. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Downtown

While I was on my way to the train depot yesterday, I took some pictures of an area just north of downtown called Snob Hollow. It was the residential area favored by the rich and powerful at the close of 19th century. Most of the historic homes are now either property of the Tucson Museum of Art, or have been converted to professional offices. Like most cities, the history of Tucson's development can be traced to a few wealthy men and their families. Steinfeld, Corbett, Hughes, Jacome, Ronstadt (Linda Ronstadt's family), Flin and Duffy, to name a few. They are the men who had the vision and often the resources make cities out of dusty frontier outposts. It will be necessary to click on the photos to see the detail. The Steinfeld Mansion, was originally built for and leased by the Owl's Club, an organization devoted to bachelor-type carrying on and to finding suitable wives for young and powerful single men. The term 'mansion' is relative. By most standards the Steinfeld Mansion would not be characterized as such. In frontier Tucson, it was a big deal. Albert Steinfeld, a mining and mercantile baron, bought the house in 1907 for his rather large family. The very upscale Steinfeld's Department Store was a Tucson fixture until giant retail chains made it difficult to compete and it closed its doors. The Julius Kruttschnitt House, now operated as the El Presidio Bed and Breakfast is described as an adobe Victorian, in style. The historic homes in Tucson reflect a mixture of style, often reflecting the roots of the builder. This building has 20-inch thick adobe walls, which kept the interior cool without air conditioning. The J. Knox Corbett House. Johnston Knox Corbett, prominent businessman and politician lived with his wife and two children in this Mission Revival style home. The Corbett family produced two mayors of our fine city. Both J. Knox and his nephew James N. Cobett, served as our mayor. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Trains

The Hooterville train depot opened in 1880 and has undergone several renovations since. The latest redo of the station was in 2004 by the City of Hooterville, its current owner. The station is now mainly office space and a museum. A restaurant that was in the building closed last year. Amtrak has two train routes using the station. The Texas Eagle provides Chicago to Los Angeles service via Hooterville and the Sunset Limited connects Orlando to Los Angeles. This is the terminal waiting area. Some of the original seating was left in place. The outside waiting area would have been popular before the days of air conditioning.. “Fast is fine, but accuracy is everything.”--Wyatt Earp Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, depicted here, shot and killed outlaw Frank Stilwell at the Hooterville station March 20, 1882. Earp believed that Stilwell was responsible, along with Ike Clanton, for killing Morgan Earp at the OK Corral. Stilwell was waiting to ambush Virgil Earp at the station when he was surprised by the Earp party. The line between outlaw and lawman was fuzzy in the Old West. Stilwell was mainly an outlaw, but had also served as a deputy marshall. Earp most famous for being a lawman, was arrested for the killing Stilwell. He was not convicted of that charge. Locomotive 1673 logged over 1 million miles in the service of the Southern Pacific railroad. It is now on permanent display at the train depot and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It belongs to the City of Hooterville. Part of the station is now a transportation museum. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

“The time is always right to do what is right.”--Martin Luther King, Jr. As you certainly know by now, Troy Davis was granted a seven day stay of execution so the the US Supreme Court can consider his appeal for a new trial. I am hopeful that they will see poor quality of the evidence that he was convicted on and will order a new trial. If that happens, it seems unlikely the prosecutors will have the evidence to convict him again. Speaking of doing the right thing, I wonder if the idiots running American car companies will ever learn? I heard an advertisement today for a GMC Yukon hybrid. In case you wondered, the Yukon Hybrid has a base MSRP of about $53,000. In case you wondered, the Yukon Hybrid get 20 miles per gallon. Not exactly the answer to our oil woes. Do you suppose that there are so many people clamoring for a Yukon that GMC has to pump out a hybrid version? The reality is that GMC wants to sell hybrids on their terms. The profit margin on these massive beasts is quite hefty, so they will continue to build them. The pickup truck and SUV market provides most of the revenues American auto manufactures rake in, so rather than mass produce cars that the market has told them we want, they continue to do what is best for them. The Toyota Prius constitutes over half of the hybrids sold in this country, but GM is building the Yukon/Tahoe. The joke continues to be on GM, Ford and Chrysler. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Something much more important than anything I have to say will occur in about seven hours from now. The State of Georgia will execute Troy Davis for a 1989 murder, which there is substantial doubt that he committed. Mr. Davis was convicted for the 1989 murder of an off-duty police officer who was acting as a security guard at a Burger King restaurant. Nine witnesses originally fingered Mr. Davis as the shooter. The entire conviction rests upon those eyewitness statements. There is no other evidence implicating Mr. Davis. Of the original nine accusers, seven have recanted their identification of Davis, citing police pressure as the reason they originally fingered him. At least one witness says that detectives told him that he would go to jail unless he identified Davis as the killer. Of the remaining two witness, one cannot be located and the other is a man who several people say has confessed to the crime himself. When he was contacted by the Associated Press, that man declined comment. No one is asking that Davis be freed or even given a new trial at this point. We are asking that Georgia stop this rush to execution. Troy Davis has been on death-row for two decades, what's the hurry now. Jimmy Carter, former Georgia Republican Representative Bob Barr, Amnesty International, the NAACP, the National Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty and the Pope have appealled to the state to stay or delay this execution, all to no avail. The fate of Troy Davis is in the hands of the United States Supreme Court. The Supreme Court has agreed to hear an appeal on September 29th to stay Davis' execution, but Georgia plans to kill him today, making his Supreme Court date moot. Shame on Georgia and shame on us for not demanding that State-sponsored killing be stopped once and forever. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly... A boy stirs from his sleep, a deep slumber, that only a child experiences. Grownups awake with a start, at a sound in the night, but a child rouses slowly and with much prodding. The cares of the world have not yet set him on edge, as they inevitably will. He hears crying, and more than crying, the wailing of someone who is wounded. He recognizes the voice of his mother, sobbing punctuated by screaming. The boy, still trying to shake off his cloud of sleep, wanders into the hall, following the sound of his mother's voice. He is confused and fright begins to creep in, the peaceful sleep makes way. At the top of the stairs, he sees strangers at the landing. No, not strangers, neighbors. Why are they in his living room? "I want my children!", he hears his mother scream. He shuffles down the stairs, the cusp of his pajama bottoms swoosh on the steps. A neighbor tells him to go back to bed, but he doesn't. His mother calls to him and he pushes by and goes to her side. She is laying on the couch, her head wrapped in bloody towels and the boy begins to cry and then to sob uncontrollably. His mother reaches out and pulls him to her. Someone, his father, is holding her head. "Mama, what's wrong?" "She fell down the basement stairs", he hears someone say. The ambulance men push into the living room and sweep his mother away into the night. The boy begs to go with her. His father tells him to take care of the other kids until he comes back. Whatelse can he say? The neighbors drift away and someone puts him back into his bed, where he sleeps the sleep that only a child can. When I was about ten my mom fell down the basement steps and struck her head on the wall at the bottom. She fractured her skull and had a blood clot on the brain. She was hospitalized for a couple of weeks and it was touch and go for a few days. I heard the neighbor telling her husband that my mom was going to die. My dad said it wasn't true, but he was an unconvincing liar, even when lying to a ten-year-old. Fortunately, she recovered. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Wax On, Wax Off, Grasshopper

In a field one summer's day a Grasshopper was hopping about, chirping and singing to its heart's content. An Ant passed by, bearing along with great toil an ear of corn he was taking to the nest. "Why not come and chat with me," said the Grasshopper, "instead of toiling and moiling in that way?" "I am helping to lay up food for the winter," said the Ant, "and recommend you to do the same." "Why bother about winter?" said the Grasshopper; we have got plenty of food at present." But the Ant went on its way and continued its toil. When the winter came the Grasshopper had no food and found itself dying of hunger, while it saw the ants distributing every day corn and grain from the stores they had collected in the summer. Then the Grasshopper knew: It is best to prepare for the days of necessity.--Aesop Does it seem that with the condition of the financial sector that the joke may be on the ant? This little fellow was resting on a plant in the backyard today. I suppose he's helping himself to a snack, but there's plenty to go around. Our nights are cooling off and the mornings are refreshingly temperate. My experiment with growing roses in the desert was a disaster more or less. I suspect that I didn't water them enough. Most of my poor bushes look like death warmed over. I do have some bushes in large pots that fared better. I seem to have a lot to learn about caring for roses when the heat is really turned up. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sunday

We had a joint birthday celebration this morning to commemorate the birthday's of both Daughter-in-law Sneed and Mr. Peterson, daughter Sneed's husband. The lovely Mrs. Sneed made a wonderful breakfast that was highlighted by lemon pancakes, topped with a fresh strawberry sauce and fresh strawberries. The pancakes were so light that people were forced to eat several, just to fully enjoy the experience, you understand. The party was crashed by two tough-looking ninja types. Luckily, they didn't hurt anyone. People rarely want suggestions or advice. Mostly, they want agreement with what they already have in mind. -- Merle Wayne Sneed We have a once-a-month store meeting to allow the manager to speak to all the store employees at one time. It is the only time we are all in the building at the same time. Generally, one of the owners is present too. I told my friend this morning that the next time I open my mouth at one of these meetings, he is to karate chop me in the throat. The problem is that I am full of good ideas to improve the business. When I say good ideas, I mean really good, innovative ideas. But, as my friend said this morning, "You're wasting your breath with this bunch." So I have renewed my vow to just shut my trap. My esophagus is riding on my resolve. Let's hope I stick to it. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Unremarkable me

Six rather unremarkable things about me. I could list a hundred, becase I am totally unremarkable. 1. Sometimes I write a post at night that I don't like in the morning, so I delete it. You may have noticed this. 2. I have size fifteen feet (sometimes fourteen, depending on the shoe). 3. I'm a little hard of hearing. 4. I don't have much of a sense of adventure. 5. I hate my eyebrows. 6. I'm the nervous type. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

My Window

"Corporations have been enthroned .... An era of corruption in high places will follow and the money power will endeavor to prolong its reign by working on the prejudices of the people... until wealth is aggregated in a few hands ... and the Republic is destroyed."---A. Lincoln As timely today as it was 150 years ago. This is the Western Metal Supply Building which was incorporated into Petco Park, the home of the San Diego Padre baseball team. Rather than tearing down the 95-year-old building, the designers of the ball park converted it into various uses for the park. I took this picture out our hotel window on Labor Day. When I was nine, we lived in apartment 8, at 21 Lawson Road, a street on the side of a hill, just south of Omaha, Nebraska. Our apartment was a two story, with three bedrooms and a bath on the upper floor. The bedroom I shared with my brothers, ages 7 and 3, had a window that faced the street. When it was hot and terribly humid and sleep was difficult, I would sit in the open window, hoping to catch a breeze in the still night. There are plenty of sounds on a hot summer night, if you listen. Crickets, mosquitoes, frogs all singing their summer songs. Sounds through the open windows of the apartments around us, people out on a summer night. Sometimes the DDT truck would go by gushing clouds of fog behind it, killing the mosquitoes, but also the fireflies and birds, as we would find out much later. Many times older boys would chase after the truck, engulfing themselves in the clouds of DDT. In the fifties we didn't know any better. Other times, awaken by the voices of my parents fighting, I would sit in the window hoping their screaming would stop and thinking of a different, a happier life. My dad was a mean drunk and crashes and screaming late into the night were common occurrences. Often, my father would trudge out to his car after one of his outbursts and sleep it off. In the winter, I would see my mother pounding at his window and yelling at him to come in before he froze to death. He would make a big deal about not caring if he did die, but he always came in when he got too cold. In the winter I would sit in my window, one side of my body cool from the coldness of the window, the other side warmed by the radiator just beneath me. I often waited for the snow plow to go up and then down our street. It would bury the cars of the owners foolish enough to leave them at the curb. Once covered by the plow, some cars would sit beneath a snowy pile until a thaw, their owners unable to free them. I would think of the man driving the plow, what a lonely job he had, plowing the empty streets at midnight. There are no sounds in the snow, late at night; everybody and everything takes shelter from cold. But, if I was completely still, I could hear a faint tick-tick-tick, of snow flakes tapping at the window pane. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

“What dreadful hot weather we have! It keeps me in a continual state of inelegance” --Jane Austen My problem exactly. Ched wondered how hot it stays at night here in Hooterville. That depends on where you live in town or even if you live way out of the metro area. Many years ago, the days were hot here in the summer and the nights cooled dramatically. Then the city population exploded and we paved over the desert. Concrete and asphalt hold heat, warming the city's nighttime temps. During the summer, the nighttime temperature only drops to the high seventies or low eighties. It is not uncommon for the temperature to still be 100 at ten o'clock at night. After midnight it drops twenty degrees or so, reaching the daily low at four in the morning. In Phoenix, 90 through the summer nights is common and 100 all night is not unusual. Phoenix is much hotter than Hooterville. It is unclear whether our warming nighttime temperatures are a result of the urbanization of the city, a change in the way the weather service records the temperatures or global warming in general. It is likely a bit of each. We also don't have seasons in the traditional sense. The old joke is that we have only two. Grass is green, sky is blue and grass is brown, sky is blue. We enjoy 350 days per year of blue skies. November through March are nearly perfect weather, highs in the 65 to 70 range and lows between 35 and 55. October, April and May are pleasant, but June, July, August and September can be horrible, with July and August always miserable. Get this. Our current ten-day forecast calls for temps in the mid to high 90's through the end of the month. Think about that, 95 degrees on Halloween. It's no wonder I'm nuts. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

The New A/C

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.--Aristotle The air conditioning guys, Brian and Kevin showed up early this morning with the new air conditioning unit in the back of their truck. They unboxed it, went up on the roof and disconnected the old unit. Then they waited for the crane. Finally, after some confusion over whether the boss remembered to schedule the crane, it showed up. The boom was extended over the house. The old air conditioner was lowered to the ground. The new unit was hoisted up. Isn't that the bluest sky you've ever seen? And the crane left. Brian and Kevin wasted no time in hooking up the new a/c. All's well that ends well. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

No Soup For You!

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. -- John Lennon Merle Wayne Sneed spent Sunday planning to buy his new car. Reading, researching, looking at ads and finally deciding that a Honda Civic was the car to buy. That lead to more looking on the internet for late-model, low-mileage Civics at a good price. And then life intervened. It intervened fast and hard. Son Sneed called me while we were shopping for groceries, to report that the air conditioning wasn't working at home. I figured that I would just be able to fix it when I got home. No worries, after all, I'm a professional hardware man. Upon closer inspection of our air conditioning unit, I remembered an important bit of information. I don't know anything about how an air conditioner works. For instance, where do they store the cold air? To my dismay, it looked like the air conditioner was dead. Bright and early this morning I called an air conditioning contractor who comes into the hardware store and he sent one of his best guys over to either repair it or to sign the death certificate. It was the latter. Here is Clarence, the repairman, giving me the bad news. According to Clarence, the compressor is dead and my alternatives are to (a) buy a new compressor for about $1700, or to (b) buy a new air conditioner for about $5500. I chose b, since putting $1700 into a nearly 14-year old system seems foolish. Besides the new air conditioner is allegedly 30% more energy efficient than its predecessor, so it makes environmental sense too. Luckily for me, the economic slowdown has left these air conditioning guys with plenty of time on their hands, so they will be here tomorrow morning with a new air conditioner and a crane to lift it on to the house. They're bringing a crane, how cool is that? I guess that the new car is out until I repay myself the money we spent on the air conditioning. Bummer. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was? - - Satchel Paige Well, both of the Sneedlets, Aiden and Noah have turned five years old. Imagine that, it seems like yesterday that they were just newborns. Noah's birthday party was today at his house. I was able to attend due to a fluke in my schedule at the hardware store. I've worked so many hours this week that they had to let me off early or pay me overtime. The little boys are at the age where they are trying out words that they hear. Things are no longer broken, they are damaged. One guy told his grandma that a plane has to have two wings to fly properly. Little Aiden is a bit less than a month older than Noah and was able to start kindergarten this year. Noah missed starting kindergarten by ten days Aiden is attending a school where there are actual expectations for the students, so he is really learning things. He has weekly spelling words and sight words. Some might think that this is too much for children this young, but I think it is good for them. When I was a student teacher in a fifth grade, I struggled with what to expect from the students. My supervising teacher told me that I was expecting the students to 'make connections' across the curriculum and that they are not able to. For instance, I wanted to have a theme for my time in the class on adaptations. My thinking was to teach them about how people and things adapt to their environment, using the subjects and lessons they were already learning. I lost that debate with my supervisor. Anyway, we had a good time at the party, as always. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sand Trout

A day's work is a day's work, neither more nor less, and the man who does it needs a day's sustenance, a night's repose and due leisure, whether he be painter or ploughman.--George Bernard Shaw Here in Hooterville, our motto when it comes to public art is, "We don't need no stinkn' public art". You would have to search Hooterville, looking under every rock and into every crevice to find what passes for public art. And when you find something, it will likely not be in its original location because, to many Hootervillians the attitude is, public art or a sewage plant, not in my neighborhood. Every work is a work of controversy. Perhaps public art is almost nonexistent here because life on the frontier was so hard that people worried about matters of survival over matters of aesthetics. To a certain extent, Hooterville remains a lowly frontier outpost. Our economy is mostly built on service and government jobs, so people still struggle financially here, more than other places. Or maybe we are just a bunch of clueless hicks. Or both. The picture is of a piece called Sand Trout, and graces one of our normally dry streams. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Many concerned readers are emailing and writing asking me about the state of my injured finger. There is a growing concern that my nearly-severed right finger will stop me from keeping a finger on the pulse of America. Not to worry, even with nine working fingers, Merle Wayne Sneed is up to the job. So, here's the latest, finger-wise. I went to the doctor yesterday morning and he took my stitches out. Then, the doctor decided that taking them out might not have been his best idea ever, seeing as how the wound wasn't fully healed, I cannot bend my finger and it hurts like hell. His solution was to give me a referral to a hand specialist. He evidently thought it was important that I get there asap, because he called and made me an appointment for today. The hand specialist x-rayed my hand again to confirm that there was no bone damage. He applied some kind of strips to close the remaining wound, splinted my finger and told me to come back next week. He also said I 'nicked' my tendon, which may be why the finger won't bend much. Of course this has really cut into my recreational activities, which is the big downside. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Stop The Death Penalty Now.

“An eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.”--Mahatma Gandhi On September 16th the state of Georgia intends to execute Jack Alderman, the longest-serving death row inmate in the United States. Mr. Alderman was convicted in the 1974 killing of his wife. Mr. Alderman had no record prior to this conviction and was convicted largely on the testimony of a mentally ill man, John Arthur Brown, who admits to being the killer, but claims Alderman was an accomplice. Mr. Brown was given leniency for his testimony and was released from prison after serving just twelve years, despite the fact that he had a long record of violence toward women. Brown committed suicide in 2000 while under investigation for child molestation. Jack Alderman, aged 57, has been on death row for 34 years and has been a model inmate during that time. I don't know whether or not he committed this crime, nor does it really matter at this point. How would justice be served by killing him now? Ironically, Jack Alderman is the only living person connected to this case. The sentencing judge, prosecutor, defense attorney and co-conspirator are all dead. Also on September 23rd Georgia intends to kill Troy Davis for the 1989 murder of a policeman in Savannah, Georgia. The case against Davis rests entirely upon the testimony of nine eyewitnesses, seven of whom have recanted their identification of Davis as the killer. Several of the eyewitnesses have filed affidavits stating that police investigators coerced their original testimonies. A murder that occurred 19-years ago, should not be avenged today on the testimony of people who no longer believe what they said they saw. The process of the State killing convicts is fraught with error and the death of one innocent man is a shame upon all of us. Surely, after all the exonerations that have come in the past few years, we should have lost confidence in our system to get it right all of the time. When it comes to the death penalty, getting it right every time should be the only standard. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

We need men who can dream of things that never were.--John F. Kennedy This statue, "Unconditional Surrender", stands in front of the USS Midway permanent exhibition in San Diego Harbor. It is intended to call to mind the famous Life magazine photo of a sailor kissing a young nurse in Times Square, after the news of the unconditional surrender of Japan, ending World War II. It is kind of big to me, but it is interesting. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Hide the Dog

San Diego has an ongoing public arts project along the North Embarcadero area called Urban Trees. The current display is the 5th addition of this project and features 31 sculptures. These are two of the current 31. (There is that woman again). "But now - surely! - it was so obvious! Grissom had just screwed the pooch! In flight tests, if you did something that stupid, if you destroyed a major prototype through some lame-brain mistake such as hitting the wrong button - you were through! You'd be lucky to end up in Flight Engineering. Oh, it was obvious to everybody at Edwards [Air Force Base] that Grissom had just f*cked it, screwed the pooch, that was all." (from page 230 of "The Right Stuff," by Tom Wolfe) Anyone else, besides Nan Patience and me, think that Barak Obama has screwed the pooch with his choice of an inside-the-beltway, old white man as a running mate? How in the name of god, does a guy running on a message of change, saddle up with a joker who is poster boy for the problems he vows to fix? And how did the most dynamic candidate since Kennedy, manage to pick one of the most boring human beings in Washington? Obama's instructions to Biden must go something like, "Shut up and look like you know what you're doing". Maybe it's just me, but I really don't get it. Perhaps Obama had a moment of doubt or felt vulnerable on the experience issue and tried to make a safe pick. You may recall that this is exactly how we got Cheney as a Vice-President. Perhaps Obama's pride got the best of him when the smart choice, the almost victory-assuring choice, was Hillary. Maybe he just couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger on Hillary. Maybe the ticket wasn't big enough for the both of them. To make matters worse, McCain has outflanked Obama. Like her or not, Palin has created a buzz and Biden has created a vacuum. In politics style mostly trumps substance, so this doesn't look good for Obama, at least at the moment. Merle Wayne Sneed would not be the least bit surprised to wake up any day now and find that Biden is out and Hillary is in. I don't expect it, but I wouldn't be surprised to see it. As my pal Kurt says, better start practicing saying, "President McCain", just in case. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky.

Honda Fit

San Diego has a lot of quirky public art downtown. This is part of a tribute to Bob Hope and his USO work. Don't pay attention to that woman in the orange sweater. She kept sneaking into my pictures. Part of the crowd of soldiers in the Bob Hope tribute. The artist really screwed up one of the statues. Merle Wayne Sneed would like to buy a Honda Fit. I'm thinking of replacing the Sneed Family Junkster, my 2001 pickup. I realize that regular readers will find the idea that Merle Wayne Sneed would actually buy a new car incredible, but allow me to assure you that I have several reasons. 1. I'm sick to death of the Junkster. After driving my former Civic for a year+, I have grown accustomed to the comforts of a regular car. I have given the Civic back to Son Sneed. The Junkster just turned 56,000 miles, so if I don't ditch it, it may outlive me. Plus, and this is no sound economic reason to buy a new car, but the Junkster is a gas hog. 2. I'm tired of people, and they know who they are, calling me a tightwad, so I intend to prove them wrong through the awesome power of my stupidity. 3. Something else. I never said I have a good reason. Long time readers will recall that several months ago I had a notion that I wanted a Honda Civic GX. This is a Honda Civic that runs completely on natural gas. The weasels at Honda will only let you lease one, not buy one. Apparently, should the experiment with natural gas go bad, like a car exploding or something, they can just cancel the leases and take the cars back. I don't wish to lease anything, much less an exploding Honda. So I decided upon a Honda Fit instead, the smallest car in the Honda line, but a great little five passenger car. Small outside, but very roomy inside. I have been waiting for the 2009 Fit to hit the showrooms before buying, because the car is redesigned for 2009 and why own an old model new car, if you can get the new model new car for nearly the same money? The 2009 Fit will have a MSRP of about $16,400, plus $800 if you want an automatic transmission. Anyway, when I say I'm going to buy a new car, you have to understand that I might buy a new car, if the conditions are right and I don't chicken out. That brings me to today. I was driving home after having lunch with my buddy Lonnie and as I passed a car lot a couple of blocks from the house, I spied a red Honda Fit sitting prominently in front of the lot. I went around the block and pulled into the lot to see what was what. The car turned out to be a 2007 model that only has 11,500 miles on it. Being a savvy consumer, I know that this car originally sold in late-2006 for around $15,500. I've been thinking aboout this for awhile. A nice enough guy named Chris greeted me and the game was on. Chris let me test drive the Fit and it was just a delight. It has obviously been well taken care of. Chris pulled up the CarFax report on the car and it is a one-owner car that belonged to someone in Green Valley, AZ, which is a retirement community south of Hooterville. The people who owned it took it to one of our local Honda dealers every three thousand miles, like clockwork, according to CarFax. It is the proverbial car that a little old lady only drove to church. When we got to price, Chris told me that they wanted $17,999 for it, but they would cut me a deal for $17,300. I pointed out the fact that it originally cost about $15,500 and Chris excused himself to talk to "the boss". When he reappeared, he said that they could go down to $16,500, but that was it. I reminded him of the original price. He asked me to come up with a number, so I said $13,000. He left again and returned with bad news. "The boss", said no. Oh, well. I asked Chris who in their right mind would pay more for a two-year-old car than it cost new? He explained that they are in demand now. That may be true, but if so, why is the current new MSRP lower than he was asking for his 2007 car? That turned out to be, I'm quoting here, "a good question". And lest I forget, Chris said they would take the Junkster off my hands for only two thousand less than Kelly Blue Book trade -in value. What a sport. So, it was back home for me and the Junkster. We will see what develops. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Fort Rosecrans

Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery sits high above San Diego on Point Loma. It is a military cemetery under the care of the Department of Veterans Affairs and covers 77 acres. About 95,000 American Armed Forces veterans are interred at the cemetery. The graves in the Fort Rosecrans date to the Battle of San Pasqual in 1846, during the Mexican-American War. They continue through the Iraq wars. Fort Rosecrans is closed to additional casket burials due to a lack of space. The only exceptions are when a spouse is already buried at a grave site. Most of the markers at the cemetery are the traditional white slabs with the brief biographical info about the dead. Many of the backs of the stones contain the name of a deceased spouse who is interred in the same grave site. Scattered about the older part of cemetery are non-conforming monuments to various groups of fallen soldiers and sailors. In 1905 The USS Bennington was preparing to leave on the rescue mission of another naval vessel, the USS Wyoming, which was disabled and adrift at sea, when a boiler exploded and killed 62 members of its crew. This monument, a 60-foot obelisk, erected in 1908, marks the graves of those killed in that explosion. The Bennington never returned to service. I don't know anything about Howard Eugene Sneed, but he among the veterans whose cremains are interred in the walls that have been built on the perimeter of the cemetery. Only cremains are now accepted for internment at Fort Rosecrans. This tree sits at a high spot on the windward side of the cemetery overlooking the Pacific. It leans away from the prevailing winds. Most of the men and women buried in Fort Rosecrans did not die in battle, but instead returned from their service and resumed their ordinary lives. War is a poor way to solve our disputes, but sometimes it is the only way to stop tyranny. It is ordinary men and women who, as Lincoln said, give the last full measure of devotion. The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet The brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread, And glory guards, with solemn round The bivouac of the dead. - Theodore O'Hara, excerpt from The Bivouac of the Dead Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

San Diego

We are back from San Diego and I have much to bore you with. But it's late and I will just post a few words. I took this picture of a beautiful pelican this morning. It was just floating around like it owned the harbor. I saw this homeless man feeding pigeons. Allowing pigeons to crawl over oneself is not something many would do. This got me to thinking about the problem of chronic homelessness. George Bush Forty-One was famously blasted in the 1980s for suggesting that most homeless people have serious problems beyond homelessness. Specifically, he said most have serious mental illness and/or drug problems. The media howled at the suggestion and homeless advocates claimed he was blaming the victims. It was fashionable in the 1980s to portray the homeless as people like you and me who were just down on their luck. But that is the exception rather than the rule. Most of the homeless are folks who need more than just a leg up. Chronic homelessness is a symptom, it is a problem, but it is not the problem. It is easy to hurry past a homeless person or to dismiss them as bums or lazy, but it way too complicated for such simplistic answers. Giving them cash is counterproductive most of the time, although I confess to doing just that. A better solution is to give a few bucks to the people dedicated to helping the helpless get off the street. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky