Saturday, April 08, 2006

Alive..In West Virginia

I made it...

In spite of the advertisement, there is no business center in the hotel. Just Damn...

I'm walking my rear end off wandering around in downtown Charleston, WV with my camera in hand, in a total state of internet withdrawal, and I found this Kinkos/Fed X center and here I am...

It's going down to 29 degrees F tonight and I'm standing around in my Hawaiian shirt.

Somebody do some surfing for me...


Weekend Reading Assignments

Here...Look At This While I'm Gone...

I know that a lot of my readers are internet pros, but some of you never bother to follow my links to other websites and blogs that really are good reading.

Just in case the world ends or I and my luggage get lost for a few days, I want to point out what I would be reading if I manage to find a computer and an internet connection.

First there are the guys over at Powerline , then there is my blog idol Captain Ed over at Captains Quarters.

And finally, for those that like their humor and blogging in a visual format, there's Rodger over at Curmudgeonly & Skeptical.

Now don't blame me if you're bored between now and Tuesday night...

Weather Delays

My Eyes Are Rolling Back Into My Head Already

Have I ever mentioned that I’m what is known as a “Road Warrior”?

Well, if I haven’t—I’m saying so now.

I’m an expert traveler—domestically and internationally, and although I do my best to have a good time traveling, anyone that has traveled for a living knows the truth of what I say…


at least it does if you’re not the one doing the flying. Since my 3rd class FAA medical has run out, I have to sit in one of the rear seats and the view from there just isn’t quite the same.

Also, if the moronic crowds and amateur travelers don’t get you, the weather always will.

That would be the case today…the weather, that is.

Don’t get me wrong here…things are obviously better in 2006 than they were in the days of Conestoga wagon trains on the old Chisholm trail and all that, but just damn—I’m sitting here watching the Weather Channel and looking at the NOAA web site and I can already see that my flight from Brunswick to Atlanta and/or my flight from Atlanta to Charleston will probably be delayed.

Bumpy as hell flight time will most likely ensue, but I still have to leave for the airport at 5:00 AM else risk missing my flight.

At least I have all day to get where I’m going, and I have absolutely nothing productive to do until Monday, so I guess I’ll just sit in the airports and twiddle my thumbs and pick my nose and try to take a nap if I can find a comfortable chair.

I’d almost rather not know my fate and take my chances with any surprises that pop up, but instead I’m forced to add a couple of additional hours of DREAD to my overextended itinerary of time wasting torture.

Will someone please hit the “EASY” button?

I’m Starting A Group Called “IA”

Internet Anonymous, That Is

By the time most of you read this, I’ll already be on an airplane on my way to Ohio…


All by Myself…

Without a Computer…

My hands actually start shaking as I write those words.

You see, my old Dell notebook computer has been sidelined with some as yet undiagnosed malady and I’ve recently had to resort to stealing time on Pat’s machine to keep myself abreast of the goings on in the world and to write my nightly missives here on the blog.

I’m not certain that I will actually be able to make it four long days without a computer and internet access, but I guess that we’ll find out soon because I’m going to be gone until Tuesday night because of the absurd limitations placed on my travel schedule allowing me to avoid spending $3000 on a four day trip to the middle of nowhere.

I’m taking the 6:20 AM flight out of Brunswick tomorrow morning, and after catching another flight from Atlanta to Charleston, WV, I’ll be within sixty miles of my destination a little before noon.

For some stupid reason, the only way to do the round trip for 25000 Delta frequent flyer miles is to travel on Saturday and Tuesday, and for some even stupider reason the Holiday Inn Express nearest the location of Grandma’s funeral won’t take Priority Club points so I’m forced to stay in Charleston, WV—the most boring state capitol in the entire US—for the duration of my journey.

Oh well, at least I know my way around town, and I’m taking my camera and drawing tools and I’ll kill some time doing some pen and ink sketches of the cool old buildings down on the river front area of town.

Being computer-less I will have to resort to using the PC in the hotel business center if I can run the teenagers off of them long enough to check E-mail and do a little blogging.

You all have permission to entertain yourselves in my absence.

I may just take an old computer keyboard with me as a sort of high tech pacifier.

Wish me luck...

Friday, April 07, 2006

Insensitive Humor

Sophomoric Irresponsibility

A reoccurring theme here on my blog is that of the hysterical public and media reaction to things like death and destruction caused by natural disasters and other things like human interaction with sharks and lightning and power lines, etc.

Lets face it people, we all live in relative safety here in the United By-God States of America in the 21st century. You can actually be a blithering, mindless, pathetic moron and honestly expect to not walk out your front door each day and have a Panther or a Grizzly bear tear your head and arms off and eat them for dinner or drag them back to their den to feed them to their cubs.

That’s a good thing, because most of us today rely on laws and lawyers to protect us even from ourselves, and if things ever went back to the way they were in 1800, I’m fairly certain that the population would decline by about 95% in less than six months.

Being an engineer and geology fan, I know things that most people haven’t bothered to worry about. For instance, almost everyone worries about earthquakes in California because beginning with the 1906 San Fran quake, popular culture equates earthquakes with the west coast.

Did you know that one of the biggest earthquakes east of the Mississippi river occurred in Charleston, South Carolina in August of 1886? Brick buildings over on the Battery are still shaking today from that one.

Or what about the New Madrid earthquakes of 1811 and 1812 on the Mississippi river north of Memphis? They say that the ground moved enough to cause the river to flow north UPSTREAM for months after the shaking ended.

Until the Mount St. Helens volcanic eruption back in 1980, everyone basically ignored volcanoes except to shudder at stories of Mt. Vesuvius and Etna in Italy, but the Northwest area of the US is really ripe with opportunity for a repeat performance in the next ten years or so.

In support of this theory, look at this story about these three poor bastards that fell into a volcanic fissure while on Ski Patrol out in California.

These guys actually fell into a volcanic “fissure”--so much for worrying about avalanches and earthquakes and brush fires in California, now we know that the ground is just opening up and swallowing people while they’re minding their own business.

The story reminds me of one of my favorite Limerick Poems that I learned as a teenager:

There once was a fellow named Fischer
That fished from the edge of a Fissure
A Fish with a Grin
Pulled The Fisherman in…
Now they’re fishing the fissure for Fischer.

Yuck, yuck, yuck

Hardy, har, har,

hee, hee, hee,

giggle giggle

If You Don’t Stand For Something

You’ll Fall For Anything…

I am relieved and proud to admit that I believe that I was entirely wrong about the display situation and my standing down at the Glynn County Arts Coastal National Exhibit, and in the interest of fairness I confess my error and beg my audience’s pardon.

In reality I should have been flattered to have my work displayed in the room, and once I had a chance to study the work of my fellow artists last evening at the opening reception, I realized that my little tiny pen and ink presentation paled in comparison to the paintings that won recognition in the event.

The only mistake made, besides my own determination of mal intent, was in allowing my drawings into the event in the first place.

They call it a mixed media event, but it is really a show for paintings.

Acrylics, oil, and a few water colors, but no sculpture and only one charcoal drawing were present, along with my pen and inks. My drawings stood out like a sore thumb, and by the way…no one mentioned spending $200 on frames for $500 artwork.

What’s up with that?

Of the three offending parties I previously identified as suspects, only one was present and she was preoccupied with the mass of patrons that were ambling around the room in an unsupervised manner.

I’m noticing a trend in the “arts events” where a bumbling herd of people show up and the “powers what be” stand around on the sidelines watching the said herd ravage the snack table and spill wine on the carpets.

I would prefer a slightly more organized event, but since I’m not in charge, we stayed long enough to hear the awards announced and snag a couple of glasses of wine and a few finger sandwiches, then we were out the door.

Now I’ve got to figure out how to get myself to southern Ohio for Grandma’s funeral on Monday morning.

Delta wants nearly $2000 to fly there from Atlanta on Sunday. They can’t be serious, can they?

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Grandma's Gone

It was about 1:30 this AM

And It Was Peacefull...she just went to sleep and didn't wake up.

Thanks for your thoughts,prayers and support...

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

5 Years Ago Today

My Life Changed Forever...For The Good, I think...

Five years ago today I found myself walking up my driveway past a Police Line.

I almost forgot to say anything about this experience this morning, because I wasn’t looking at a calendar when I was writing.

Any way…five years ago this noon my house on Kennedy Lane in Marietta, Georgia, burned to the ground as a result of an electrical fire.

OK, it didn’t actually burn to the ground, because it was brick on four sides, but the important parts were basically charred beyond recognition except for a few items of memorabilia and things that were hosed down with water by the fire department.

I was paralyzed at first, but within a few days I accepted my fate—the end of an eight year run of bad luck involving deadbeat business partners, bitchy ex-wives, bankrupt business creditors, and just plain bad luck and stupidity on my part.

It has actually been a bit refreshing—the loss of responsibility that is…

My Teddy Bear, my stuffed monkey Mr. Zip with the chewed off plastic 1960's fingers, my Tonka Dump Truck, my trains and model airplanes and virtually everything I had amassed during the first 41 years of my life were gone in about four hours, according to the official report.

I even had to endure an “official” police investigation looking for any indication of arson and otherwise mal-intent. They asked me to take a lie detector test if any suspicion was to arise as a result of their forensic investigation.

They shook my hand and walked away without further incident.

To add insult to injury, someone broke into the damaged structure, not once, but twice, and tossed the contents of my charred bookshelves and drawers into the floor flooded with ash and muck.

The same pair of juveniles then returned, choosing to beat in the sunroof of my disabled Nissan Maxima. Even though they were tried and convicted in court, since they lived in "Section 8 housing" I had to settle for selling my beloved low mileage auto for scrap because the repair cost exceeded the wholesale value.

In the end, I’ve figured out that it doesn’t really matter.

After All, You Can't Take It With You...


Hey All You Delta Airlines' Pilots

I've Got Just Two Words For You...


Anyone but me remember why Eastern went out of business?

So Go Ahead you overpaid, pompus idiots, go on strike if your stupid assed Pilot's Union tells you to--kill your own company in the name of UNITY.

I like Air Tran and South Western Airlines better any way, and you make it impossible to use my Frequent Flyer miles, so what the hey...

Good Riddance

Strategical Bumbling Man

I Am My Own Worst Enemy

If I were a superhero—you know, the kind found in cartoons and comic books—my name would be “Strategical Bumbling Man,” “Self Defeatist Man,” “Punching Bag Man,” or something of that sort.

I’d probably wear a pink or purple costume with a big bull’s eye target on my chest and on my back, and I’d stumble and run around in big oversized clown shoes and yell things like “SHAZAM” in a voice like Jim Neighbors’ character Gomer Pyle.

Each TV episode of my exploits would feature me saving myself from my own self-created problems or retrieving myself from needless peril.

It would basically be a one man show, because I wouldn’t have time to help anyone else as a result.

My art career is a perfect example of this type behavior.

I had nothing to gain, and everything to lose, by entering the Glynn Arts Association National Juried Exhibit that opens Thursday evening.

From the outset I knew that the Association President was a good friend of two women (also Association members) that disliked me from a prior relationship with one of the local theater companies.

I had previously upset their apple cart disturbed the hierarchy of the set design and construction clic and when they resorted to juvenile retaliation tactics, I resigned, but not before delivering a stinging dissertation outlining my problems with their organization.

In anticipation of similar exclusionary tactics, I actually went to the trouble to enter this competition using my “Nome de plume” (pen name) Maxwell Raymond, for fear that the acceptance committee wouldn’t fairly consider my work if they knew whom it was that it was actually produced by (me.)

I did, however, feel that, if my work was accepted, I would have a fair evaluation in the Jury process because the Artist that is doing the judging is from somewhere outside of Georgia and has no known relationship to any of the offending parties.

Needless to say, I was quite pleased when my pen and ink drawing composition entitled “Sanctuaries of the Golden Isles” was accepted in the competition.

So good so far. (que the ominous superhero theme music...)

Next I ran into a telephone booth, changed into my costume, and emerged as my super hero “altered ego”--Strategical Bumbling Man.

“Here I come…to save screw up my dayyyyyyyyy…”

You see, I was suffering from a bad case of “the big head” after my meeting with Mrs. Wilcox at the Left Bank Art Gallery, so in a fit of egotism I elected to put both my “Nome de plume” and my REAL NAME on the identifying label on the back of my art work.

Can you say the words “strategical error” or possibly BIG MISTAKE in laymans terms?

Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, apparently that is exactly what I committed, because when I stopped by the Glynn Arts gallery about 4:15 PM yesterday afternoon to sneak a peek at their progress in hanging the competitors’ artwork, I was crushed.

At first I couldn’t even find my drawings.

The gallery is really just a 30 foot square room with two doors opening onto the sidewalk, but even with the small size of the real estate, I had to wander around for a couple of minutes before I realized my art was on their wall, but that they had hung my drawings in the very back corner of the gallery, over the attendant’s desk, in behind the brochures and other obligatory crap that they have on display 24/7.

You can’t get within six feet of my work without moving the desk chair out of the way and leaning over a cradenza.

I was incensed…

I managed to control myself, and instead of throwing a public conniption fit (thereby awaking the old man dozing at the attendants desk), I just left the building.

Based on my history with the three aforementioned individuals I should have expected this exact situation to occur.

I thought about things for a while and decided to just go back by the gallery, show my ID, and ask that my work be removed from the exhibit.

When I arrived at the front door at 4:55 PM, the doors were locked and the lights were off, so I went home.

I’m fairly CERTAIN that there is no coincidence regarding where my work is hidden hanging, just like I’m fairly CERTAIN that it was a mistake to reveal my identity prior to the end of the art exhibit.

I don’t know what else to do, except grin and bear the experience.

Should I stay or should I go?

What do YOU think?

(If I hand you a big stick, will someone please attempt to beat some sense into me?????)

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Don’t Blame Me…

I Didn’t Vote For The Silly Bitch

Two words describe this morning’s topic, and together they form the name of someone that I believe is an embarrassment to the Atlanta metropolitan area, the State of Georgia, and the entire United States of America on the world stage.

Cynthia McKinney.

Don’t get me wrong here, because I’m not just writing about this topic off of the cuff—I know what I’m talking about because I’ve endured the insanity of the McKinney family during the entire 27 years that I lived in the Atlanta area before escaping to St. Simons two years ago.

I first became aware of Cynthia’s father, Georgia State Representative Billy McKinney, back in the 1970’s when he was spewing racial demagoguery all over the Atlanta Journal/Constitution newspaper where his irrational contrarian viewpoints were commonly aired for public viewing.

Daddy McKinney was a politician first and foremost, but he was also a BLACK politician that won’t hesitate to play the race card at the first sign of conflict—heck, I think that McKinney Sr. had entire decks of “race cards” custom printed with his picture on them and he would toss them out in any situation, at the drop of a hat.

Like father…like daughter today.

After serving with Papa McKinney in the Georgia State House from 1988 to 1990, Cynthia managed to get herself into national office in 1990.

Insanity and retardation ensued, from the mouth of what I could consider to be a very well educated woman—a woman that apparently can’t separate herself from political ambition and her father’s racial divisiveness.

Georgia managed to toss McKinney out of office back in 2000 when an articulate female black judge named Denise Majette ran for the US House seat in the revised 11th district of Georgia. I almost laughed my ass off when the Democrats screamed bloody murder as a result of the giant Republican turnout of hated “crossover votes” in the primary election that tossed McKinney out of the race on her ear.

Miss Majette went on to win the general election against a strong Republican opponent in November 2000, and Daddy McKinney was also tossed out of the State House on his ear because the voters had had enough of his inept, blatant, racist demagoguery.

After a single four year term in the state house, the retirement of Democratic Senator Zell Miller (whom I happen to like and admire immensely) caused Miss Majette to seek election to the open Georgia Senate seat, and the idiotic voters in Georgia’s Dekalb County, having short memory’s, re-elected Miss McKinney to her old seat in the US House.

So here we are today with all of the usual suspects (Papa McKinney, Harry Bellefonte, the National Organization of Women, et. al.), none of which witnessed the incident, claiming that Miss McKinney hit a Capitol Policeman because he was improperly racially profiling her and that he touched her “inappropriately” during the incident.

What total CRAPPOLA.

Couldn’t this incident have been handled with a quite conversation among the involved parties, rather than making it into front page headlines.

Unless the guard knocked her down and beat her, wouldn’t a polite apology from the policeman for not recognizing her in her new Afro hairdo been acceptable?

If she really did try to walk through security with no ID and then hit the guard when he tried to stop her in order to determine her identity, couldn’t she have just apologized for her behavior and hoped that the matter could be dismissed because of her position in the Congress—instead of running to the TV cameras and microphones?

Not if your last name is McKinney…apparently.

I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m saying, based on my past knowledge of the mode of operation of the McKinney family, that you can place your money on the Capitol Policeman’s version of this story.

I also say that you can take two to one odds that the McKinney family’s famous decks of race cards and prolific demagoguery will probably make the whole thing blow over in yet another biased fit of political correctness.

Let’s face it—the woman’s a dangerous, partisan, racist, idiot that has no business in the House of Representatives, and that her stupidity is only exceeded by that of many voters whom would choose to elect someone as inept as this to national political office in the first place.

God help us all...

Monday, April 03, 2006

Reaping What You Sew

She Said…He Said…And Other Miscellaneous PC Crap

Ok, my head is spinning around at orbital rotational velocity again this morning.

This time I have another problem with politically correct media induced bullshit, but this time I’m siding WITH the media and AGAINST the currently fashionable knee jerk political correctness crowd.

In the past month a couple of private E-mails from ABC Good Morning America producer John Green were leaked to the Drudge report and the New York Post.

In one of these E-mails, written during the first presidential debate in 2004, Mr. Green made clear his personal dislike of Republican President George Bush.

"Are you watching this? Bush makes me sick. If he uses the 'mixed messages' line one more time, I'm going to puke."

In the second, in slightly more inflammatory language, he made disparaging comments about former Democratic Secretary of State Madeleine Albright.

In that note, Green wrote that Albright should not be booked on the show because "Albright has Jew shame."

Albright, who was raised as a Roman Catholic, acknowledged her Jewish heritage in 1997 after it was discovered by Washington Post reporter Michael Dobbs in the course of researching a book.

Green wrote in that note that "she hates us anyway because she says we promised her five minutes and only gave her two . . . I do not like her." An ABC insider said Green was reacting to a heated dispute between Albright and a network producer.

It would seem that John Green is an equal opportunity offender of both sides of the political isle, but come on folks—when and where is this crap ever going to end?

I ask you, are we all doomed to live in 6th grade, with 6th grade mentalities, for the rest of our existences?

Let’s face the facts ladies and gentlemen, neither of these E-mails was intended to be released for public consumption, although I recognize the need to carefully pick your words in correspondence on corporate computers and internal snail mail systems.

For instance, writing on the company E-mail system that your boss is a moronic cross dressing, transvestite, pedophile could be considered potential grounds for discipline or dismissal from your employment, even if it were true, BUT…

If everything that you had ever written in the past ten years in your own E-mail correspondence were printed out in the newspapers or otherwise revealed to your friends, family, and the general public, isn’t it possible that you could manage to cause some hurt feelings and outrage.

Could there be some real and/or imagined slights in there somewhere, issued in haste or in the heat of the moment?

I suspect that no one would be immune, so why is ABC forced to place John Green on a months suspension for speaking his mind in a private context?

I've said it before here in this blog, and I'll say it again:

It is impossible for the government or the political correctness crowd to control the actual thoughts and feelings of human beings, but that is where they are trying to go with this PC crap.

Hate crime laws punish you based on what you were THINKING at the time you did something that was usually already against the law at the time the act was committed. It's not enough that you are convicted of killing someone, now they give you extra penalties based on what was going on in your brain's neurons at the time of the murder.

Historically there have been different standards or thresholds of tolerance expected by the politicians and the media from Democrats or Republicans, and particularly for blacks and whites when it comes to racially charged issues.

Trent Lott lost his Senate leadership position for comments made at a private birthday celebration for Strom Thurman—a South Carolina DEMOCRAT. All Trent said, and I’m paraphrasing, is that the US might have been a better place had Senator Thurman won the 1948 presidential election over Truman and Dewey.

Since Thurman was running at the time under the banner of the “States Rights Democratic” party with heavy segregationist rhetoric (he carried Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and South Carolina), the media soiled their underwear and somber faced Democrats, lilly-livered Republicans, and “black leaders” demanded his outright resignation from the Senate.

They settled for his departure as ranking Senate Majority leader.

Meanwhile, Jessie Jackson, Al Sharpton, and Lewis Farrakhan can run around in front of TV cameras and microphones saying that the government intentionally broke the levees in New Orleans and no one bats an eye. New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagen and the Democratic hag of a Louisiana Governor can leave a thousand empty buses sitting in parking lots while at the same time claim that the racism of the Bush Administration and FEMA caused their problems.

Likewise, Hollywood can produce movies with titles like “White men can’t jump” while me and all my evil white male buddies are expected to remain silent.

But do you know what?

It’s true.

By NBA standards, white men really can’t jump.

You know what else is true?

By the standards of the TV show “Soul Train”, white men can’t do much in the way of dancing, either.

I’m not losing much sleep if P-Diddy, Eminem, or Michael Jackson wrote a book or made a movie letting that secret out of the bag for public consumption.

I just had another thought, and this one might just piss a few people off, but it’s true.

White men are better than blacks and Hispanics at driving cars around in circles at 190 mph on Sunday afternoon.

We call it NASCAR.

But if you watch CNN or FOX news, based on the number of high speed chases on California freeways, you’d think that NASCAR would be overflowing with “Brothers” and “Hombres” chomping at the bit to get into the sport.

(OOPS, I just said "chomping at the bit..." I didn't mean anything by it, I promise...)

Instead of saying “Gentlemen—Start Your Engines” while the drivers sat in the cars on pit row, someone would yell “Cops” or “da fuzz” and the drivers would run to the closest car (a grand prix style start), hotwire the ignition, and dash off in a cloud of smoke and squealing tires.

Or maybe NASCAR could start a new “Escalade” truck series featuring highly tinted windows and 22" spinner rims as a concession to the minority drivers and white Hip Hop fans.

Instead of in-car TV cameras showing the driver's view of the racetrack, the cars would be "pimped out" with giant in-car subwoofers, flat screen plasma TV's, and DJ mixing board setups.

Instead of a Corvette or Mustang for a pace care, they could have a Ford Crown Vic police car, complete with blue lights and siren, and instead of following the pace car, in the Escalade event the pace car would CHASE the race participants.

One rule change would be there would be no slowing down or stopping for yellow flags and no pit stops.

If you had a wreck or a flat tire, the driver would be required to keep running with parts and sparks flying off. The race would end only when all of the vehicles had run out of gas or been otherwise disabled.

To add a measure of realism to each event for the drivers, the last ten laps would feature the top three drivers running the opposite direction, AGAINST the other traffic.

Talk about a thrilling change to a otherwise sometimes boring event. It would also give a whole new meaning to the Dale and Michael Waltrip's UPS commercials about "racing the truck."

Seriously, I think that I'm on to something here, but I probably got a few narrow minded liberals boxers in a bunch in the process...

Does anyone remember what my original point was?

Sunday, April 02, 2006

The Weather Is Here

Wish You Were Beautiful…

We’re back from Florida this evening, having made another trip to the hospital to visit my Grandmother.

The good news is that she is still with us half the time, but the other half of the time she’s sorta out of it. She’s decided to start eating a little again and she’s still drinking water and milk, but God knows where this is all going because the balance of her medical treatments have ceased.

She actually wanted to go home to her suite at my Uncle’s house today, and she even sat up in a chair for a little while—the first time she’s been out of bed in three weeks—but the official line is that she’s in the care of the Hospice personnel until the very end of her life.

It seems to me that she’s actually improving a little, but then I’m just a stupid engineer, not a doctor.

It’s very frustrating, and I don’t know what else I can do except visit and lend support to the medical decision makers. I think that if it were up to me I would have moved her to Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville by now in order to see if some higher powered brains could make any difference in her prognosis, but it’s not my call to make.

It’s tough to sit by and just watch her flounder around.

As a result of our trip, we missed two days of killer swimming pool weather and the Blessing of the Shrimp Boat Fleet up in Darien this weekend. Lots of good photo ops could have been had.

Oh well…

I’ve got renewed energy when it comes to my drawing efforts, and a new pad containing 24 sheets of Strathmore Acid Free 14”x17” drawing paper to cover with ink. I think that I’m going to take a shot at doing some water color washes on parts of a few drawings in order to add come color to my work.

The Coastal National Exhibit opens this Thursday evening at the Glynn County Arts Association Gallery down in the Village, and Pat and I are taking our neighbor Bucky (Dartmouth class of 1942) along with us to the artist’s opening reception.

I’m afraid that there are at least two or three little ladies down there that are not going to be too happy to see me represented in their little cotillion mutual admiration association art exhibit because I’ve already crossed swords with them while working with the Island Players Theater company.

I’m going to love every minute of it, because one of these lovely ladies has already told be to not expect to be displaying any art on this island (because of the quality of the competition) until I had spent several years honing my skills like she had. After all, she had majored in art in college (at the Eastern Lower Southern Georgia Community College or the Coastal Shrimping and Cosmetology Institute or some similar damn place) sometime in the last 100 30 years.

Gosh do I ever love having the opportunity to make people that have an ax to grind with me uncomfortable by going over their heads in a public venue.

This is going to be so much fun…