Headlining - It Could Happen!

My booking agent is Mike Maguire. Mike works with 128 athletes and former athletes who live and play all over Vegas, so it wasn't really a surprise to me when he suggested that I take my comedy to a smaller, more intimate lounge on The Strip. I could, but it wouldn't be just my act - immediately I began making little plans, which soon turned into mega plans, rolling over the top of my head plans, and plans that soon became so big I found myself placing phone calls, getting estimates for video production, buying mics, stools, and any necessary props I might need. I decided that Starbucks, Old Navy, American Airlines, and Dublin Dogs would be great sponsors too! (See how I am when I get an idea in my little brain? Warning - She's a thinker!)

 Before I was old enough to know better - I did stand up routine on stages that would probably be laughed at today, but they were giants then. They had real brick walls and they had electrical cords strung out all over the place. Lights were haphazardly hung using 3 of the 4 bolts necessary - their fading colored filters burning overhead and dripping onto the stage just to the left of my Converse! That sort of set - raw and edgy, fun and smoky, the way a hot spot was suppose to be. Well, the way the lounges were before laws went into effect about minors not coming into the venue, smoking being restricted, and forget about cell phones going off - I remember using a hardwired phone pulled out on a really long extension to use as a prop - I'd call my dad, or pretend to, and have him explain to me why he's actually related to himself. (Arkansas bit) 

 Well - I still tell some of the lame jokes, and I still make up puns, double-meanings, and throw out pieces that could be considered funny - and they get attention from time to time. This time it was my booking agent. He had been to a star-show that he didn't find all that funny. In light of what Sebastian Maniscalco calls comedy, I can see why Vegas may actually be looking for fresh or even older material that brings in and keeps a crowd - I'm not saying that I still have it, maybe I don't, but it would be a family show and it would be full of stories, questions, interaction, Faith would make an appearance of course, and get this - Laura would sing! Caity could do a little 4-6 minute get together with the kids in the audience, she's great with the little guys - scary when you think about that fact. Caity is a mess most of the time with her language, tattoos, dyed over dye hair, and smoking, but hey - - kids love the stuffings out of that one. 

  OMG - what if she became a Kindergarten teacher? Our future could be in danger at that point - real serious danger. Anyway, the whole show would last about 70 minutes, and it would include a 6 minute tape/video of our commitment to the troops. It would have a 3 minute illustrated, animated video expressing Reuben's input since he couldn't' be there - but it would be so touching and so moving that the audience wouldn't have an option but to love it - that's my style. I want to pull a heart string because I want them to remember what really is important - family. Love. Laughing. Living. Learning. So, with that said - more plans are being made - without permission of course, but once the ball is rolling it's hard to stop it's pressure, its weight, its size, it just has a way of coming to life on its own. This could happen! If it did I would do everything I could to keep the price WAY WAY down so that every family could go and take every member - the show would change in that my bit would be a Blog of the Week sort of thing - updated, currently funny and quite relative, something everyone could relate to - Laura's singing would be a prelude to her famous touring days, and the world would have the opportunity to see the Wild One in a moment of sheer joyful bliss - I'm sure she'll wear some really funky clothes, and make every 5-11 year old want to dress just like her and they'll all beg to have the color stripped from their hair so they can be JUST like Caity - damn...damn...damn. (To think, I created this creative genius.)

 Hopefully in the very near future my future will be in your future - you'll come to Vegas, we'll hug and you can do the Starbucks' Toast, telling me where you've been - bringing me business cards from YOUR favorite Starbucks. I would love to end up with every card available. I have 819 now that I've actually visited - They DO need to sponsor me don't they? Keep your fingers crossed, but don't place the bet just yet - hold your cards. Let Lady Luck kiss me first!

I Really Should Write THAT Book.

My friends laugh at me because I won't agree to write the book retelling the thousands of Hollywood stories I have to tell - stories that took place when I made my living as a stand up comedian in Burbank and other Los Angeles burbs. At the time, I lived in a Beverly Hills mansion, worked during the day for the California Student Loan Finance Corporation on Pico just east of 20th Century Fox, and I also worked the studios through connections in their respective transporation divisions. I didn't have a permit to do what I did, I had friends who had friends who wanted cars, vans, trucks, and other vehicles transported from one studio lot to the other - they paid me. At night, most often on weekdays when it was slower, I made my living as a stand up. (Today I do most of the jokes from a seated position)

Keep in mind this was before the invention of the cell phone, however, my father was an electrical engineer at Western Union so the ideas for the prototypes of all wireless phones and television/phones was there - it just wasn't common. I had to find out about gigs the old fashioned way: by stopping into the venue to see if they had an opening. Sometimes I would have to stay a while to be sure they had openings and other times the manager(s) wouldn't let me leave their premises for fear they'd need me. I was fun - cheap, and to be honest, funnier when I had to make the gags up on the spot. Some of my best work is done on the fly - oops, that didn't' come out sounding too well did it? Oh well - you know what I mean!

Spontaneity is my middle name. It was going to be my first, but my dad didn't' know how to spell it so he kept it simple. I'm Jude. To be honest, I enjoyed to days of old and the adventures of the over 600 concerts I attended - half of which I never paid for, just given tickets because I either wedged my way in, made someone laugh, or convinced someone up front that I was part of the show. I did that well enough to gain access to the mansion jobs as well. Before long I never had to pay a hotel fee - I just babysat homes and literally got paid for hosting parties while the host was gone. Yes, there are stories that go along with that sort of thing. I lived at 1100 Carolyn Way before Heidi Fleiss made the place her Playgirl Mansion of sorts. I lived in a house off of Miracle Mile on Fairfax that years later was the scene of a double murder and suicide - I hosted parties for people everyone would know now, but then they were borrowing clothes from me, and even money to get cigarettes so they could look cool for the producers and directors that would be at the parties.

One movie I was in, and I have to be honest, I own the DVD but haven't looked for myself for fear I may fall over - is LOVE SCENE with Tiffani Boeing and Frank Luz. It was a Raleigh Production, I believe directed by Townsend - not sure, but it was filmed at the Carolyn Way house - Grayhall is the actual name of the mansion. During the filming I stopped production to force a man out of the pool that I believe would have drown. If I told you his name you'd die! A year later he came to Oklahoma to be present at his movie's premiere. He saw me and he told me he was going to leave me in his will for having saved his life. I doubt he does, but it was great to see that he hadn't died in the 300+ days since I fished him out. I remember I had to redress and have my makeup and hair done over and I was just an extra - but I was SEEN and the continuity must remain in tact!

I should write THAT book. It would have to include the making of The Outsiders, Rumblefish, Tex, One From the Heart, Tank, Gremlins, Return of the Jedi, Oh God! You Devil, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and a few minor films that will never see the light of the big screen - video only...such as Love Scene. I worked on the Dukes of Hazzard, several WB programs such as T.J. Hooker, and 20th Centuries Trauma Center - but you'll never once see my name in the credits. The way Hollywood is run, it's a miracle they aren't fined more often than they are - but that's part of the glamour or non-glamour I suppose. It doesn't mean there aren't stories to tell - smiles to remember (Emilio) and friendships made (Simone Raines). I just hope the memories never actually go away when I get old - that seems like more of an appropriate time to tell some of the stories I have hidden in my head - my heart, my journals.

Somethings are just better left untold.

Drag Him off the Field Already! Play Ball!

Baby Boy was playing football for the barracks (he's in the Army at Fort Wainwright, Alaska presently) when the inevitable occurred; he hurt himself. Every year the boy played ball he broke at least one other person besides himself, but he always managed to hurt himself severely somehow. That's probably why I was encouraged to take out the school's athletic insurance policy! We used it. So, what happened yesterday was not the least bit surprising to me. The soldiers in the barracks next to Reuben's barracks threw out the challenge - football. For a while this summer my son was subjected to playing soccer - like a commoner! Hahahaha, OK, I'm sorry if that offended you, you have to understand our upbringing to appreciate the dislike for fotbol - it's just not FOOTBALL unless the ball itself is elliptical. 

 The boys were lined up, they were wearing colors, they were wearing smiles, they were calling audibles and doing what they needed to do. No one on the other team realized that the boy I raised was literally taught to play real football by none other than Reggie White, the greatest man to ever step foot on a gridiron. Reuben memorized, passionately, every play he was taught and he utilized the methods and training for many years from the time he was 12 to the day - well, until yesterday! The number 92 carved into my son's arm (tattoo) bears witness to the love he has still for the original "Minister of Defense" as Reggie was called. The call was made, the count was set, up on his heels, through the pall of flesh on three - the boy hit! He hit the line, he blasted through the line, missing the quarterback by a fraction of an inch he continued running straight toward the wide receiver who was making his pattern in good time.

 Reuben's speed has always carried him just THAT much faster - BAM! They hit. He collided into the intended receiver, but not before his large extended arm slammed toward the ball - knocking it to the ground. The play, the precious play was saved! Go Boy! OK, the bad news: Reuben was under the boy he tackled, and so was his arm. I'm not sure yet which arm was affected - I got the call in the middle of the night actually as it was being x-rayed at the base hospital. You see, it's a rule in our house, you have to call the mom when you're in the hospital no matter what - I need to know to start praying. There is another rule too: Get the man off the field so you can play ball! I asked the guy that called me on behalf of my broken son, "Did he make the play?" The man laughed. He answered "That is EXACTLY what Reuben said you would say!" I repeated my question - I could tell in his voice that Reuben was going to be OK, the more important questions needed to be asked. Did he make the play? That's one question. Did they get him off the field so they could resume play? Did he cause a time-out unnecessarily? You know, things like that.

 Well, the Pvt that I was talking to assured me that the U.S. Army didn't just pull my son off the field. The play was made, yes, but the game was stopped due to injury. How very sad. Today we hang our heads in shame. Just kidding. I'm just really glad my baby is OK, or will be. He said he's on really strong drugs at the moment and that now would be a good time to ask him other types of questions that he may answer without regard to consequence. I may do that. Thank you Army guys for pulling my baby to safety, but try to understand the reasoning behind those questions; a gladiator is only as good as his heart. My son would have wanted the game to continue, I'm sure. There was a time during his high school years, his junior year I believe, that I went to a game and it looked like it might rain. Rain it did! Buckets and buckets full and wind too. Everyone else in the entire stadium ran for cover - I could not. I wasn't allowed to abandon the game - not for rain. If it had begun to lightning I could have left IF they had called the game, but my job was to stand fast and to give the nod and the signal to the boy on the field that I was behind him 100%...150% if possible. I was the ONLY spectator in the stands. The game was resumed and the others returned. My boy's drenched smile shone as proudly for me as mine did for him. I don't leave the man on the field either. I will never leave the man on the field. Pull him off so the others can play ball - I'll love him from wherever I am standing fast. Today it is in Oklahoma. My heart and my prayers are in Alaska. Hooah! (Thanks Clark for the call)

Going to Spain!

This past Sunday one of the members of my church, a guy who has taught elementary students for nearly 30 years, leaned over and made a joke during class. I reciprocated and it just kept right on throughout the entire class. We both love the English language, the double-meanings, the puns, and of course, the jokes that hardly anyone else would get - unless they were word nerds like we are. During the course of my fun someone said out loud "Hey Jude! So you've never been to Spain, but you've been to Oklahoma?" To which (or to wit) I answered "Well, they tell me I was born there, but I really don't remember - in Oklahoma, not Arizona, but what does it matter?" If you're old enough you'll get that.

It's true - I was born in Oklahoma, not Arizona, but now I won't be able to state that I've never been to Spain. That is, I won't be able to say it after September 15, because that's when I'm suppose to be flying over to that beautiful country with my dog Faith. We've been invited to be guests on a television show, do a few interviews, promote the books, that sort of thing. I can't wait. It's not been easy getting the tickets, the passport, the contract, the deposits, or any of it. I have to get Faith microchipped this weekend - before the GAME, but she'll be fine I'm sure. It's not expensive and it could save her life in the future too. She'll be properly spoiled for days afterwards too, I'm sure. She's such a baby when she gets her shots. Matrix just takes it...snarls a little when he sees the nail clippers, but shots he's OK with. Faith just whines like a brat for either really - and we end up distracting her with cheese and/or gummi bears.

SPAIN....the food should be out of this world. I'm told I'll be in a 4 or 5 star hotel. That scares me, will I have the clothes to wear? I can't see myself wearing my ragged out torn Levis in the ritzy ritz hotels in the streets of ancient Madrid. I will remember to bring something flowing and white - that's always good for Europe! I told myself I didn't want to be the fat American stepping off the plane in Europe my first time. I'm down to 155 now, perhaps I can get 10 more off before touchdown. I sincerely don't want to be a stereotypical American. I'll also remember to thank everyone, listen intently, not ask people to say things in English - but then again, I don't speak any other language, so I may have to see pictures. I think I'll try to refrain from ordering dessert too - and fatty foods. Just the salads, the chicken dishes, and no thanks on the snails - seriously, no thanks. I like my slugs on the beach where they belong, not on my table!

Faith, for her part, will be flying in the cabin - or we don't go. At first we were told that Spain doesn't allow dogs in the cabin of their planes, but Faith isn't just a dog, she's a celebrity, and she's a U.S. Army soldier, and she's a goodwill ambassador. The fact that she has to fly in cargo in America is loathsome, but the airlines insists on booking us at First Class rates ONLY if we fly so it's cost prohibitive....however, traveling overseas - they can either pay it, or we stay home. I don't want my puppy in the cargo for more than a few hours at most. She always seems so interested in seeing me after just a short jog from Dallas to Chicago. It must be rather lonely in the suitcase section! Then again, when she's in the cabin she just curls up and goes to sleep in her chair, and not a single passenger realizes she is even in First Class until we land. Barking at the landing gear seems to make her happy - so she does it. No, she never partakes in the champagne, and I don't usually ask that she have her meal served with finger napkins either. She has no fingers to wipe! She just wolfs it down like a dog - imagine that!

Hopefully we'll be in the air soon and being a little giddy for the vacation, for the fun, for the experience. I look forward to seeing my passport too. I took the pictures today - I didn't like them. I'll redo them tomorrow - hey, it's my first! I have to carry it around for years, and I want it to be just right. If you have any tips for me about traveling in Europe, please e-mail, I need to become educated I'm sure!

Sooner Football - Selmon Sauce!

Only 2 more days before the opening kickoff of the 2007 Football Season and I had to capitalize it because it is a proper noun! Don't argue with me, I have a Masters in English - I know a proper noun when I see one. Sooner Football, Bob Stoops, The Boys, Red & Crimson...all proper nouns. Everyone of them worthy of proper recognition. We have a family tradition in our world that I simply couldn't get out of - and I wouldn't. I wouldn't (and didn't) let the fact that my son is 3 time zones away from me stand in the way of he and I eating our Swaubs hot links with Selmon Brothers Sauce all over them. Now, for those of you who may not be familiar with either the Swaubs or the Selmons, I think you can Google the Selmons and find out that not only are they the best BBQ sauce makers in the world, they all played football for Oklahoma University in the DAY. The National Championship Day. Well, we've had 7 of those days here in Oklahoma, but who's counting? (We are!)

We, Reuben and I, always start the first game off right. We fire up the grill, pile on the links, wear old worn out jerseys, and we fly the giant OU flag outside - on top of the roof so it can't be missed. We always use the OU throw pillows to throw at the referees on screen when they screw up, and we always drink RED drinks, such as Red Bull, Merlot wine for me, or Red Koolaid, something RED. It must be RED. Naturally we sing the fight song when appropriate, which is absolutely every down when we achieve more than 4 yards, and when we make a great tackle. We sing it when we score, we sing it when the other team DOESN'T score, and we sing it when we win too. Simple lyrics really - wanna learn? "Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Sooner! Boomer Soon - ER! Then you have to do the drum roll part, and start all over again. Not hard - join in.

Well, this year, seeing how Reu will be stuck in Alaska and unable to see the game - we've arranged for camstreaming and/or radio on XFM so he can catch the plays. I decided to foot the bill and send him a bottle of Selmon sauce too, but decided against the Swaub meats. He'll have to make due with whatever brand he can pick up in the land of the midnight sun. Perhaps Selmon sauce will actually go well with caribou - he may have a new tradition to share when this is over. Nevertheless, he does have the jersey, he does have a smaller version of the flag, and he does have that Good Ol' Oklahoma Spirit! (another proper noun)

Go Bob! Kick some TEXAS butt. (Hey, Matt - First North Texas falls, then we're gunning for longhorn - no capital letter needed my friend!) LOL - Football has entered the building!

I Positively Agree!

I have been a very positive thinker for years. Also, for years, I have positively thought that I was rather unique, strange, different, or really just sort of OUT THERE, and apparently, most people agree with me. I can't help it really, it's just the way life dealt my cards and I suppose it's the way I have always decided to take those cards and make little houses out of them, maybe paper aeroplanes - rather than to cry over something I can't change.

When I got back to work today from a well deserved lunch, my boss (who I've taken to calling Boy Boss due to the fact that he's almost 1/2 my age, and he's so much like my son in many ways) explained to me on his way out the door that (1) he was behind in his sales quota for life insurance policies this month. (2) that in order for him to make the cut in the district office we needed to sell 3 more policies by tomorrow, and (3) he didn't care how I got them, as long as I got them. I decided, as I always do - to think positively. WHO, I asked myself, can I pounce on this week?

It wasn't long, not long at all before I was able to call the boy, er, man up on his cell to tell him that I had indeed two good prospects and was working on the third. His silence on the other end of the phone was deafening...he was thrilled. How? How did I do this? I simply did what I knew he hadn't done since the day he walked into the office a year or so ago. I canvassed the offices in the building. People work in our building. Real live people, with real live needs, and if everyone in the building is like him - self employed, then they need life insurance. That's what more than 20+ years of selling the stuff was saying to me anyway - two down, one to go. By close of business we had four. Four, not three - four! It helped a little that he had threatened to let me keep my job if I found him the necessary three. I don't really need the job, but working with him makes me think of being that much closer to my real boy. He says some of the boy like, inappropriate things my son would say, and even though he doesn't blow his nose in the trashcan like Reuben would, he burps, farts, and adjusts himself fairly often. (Just like home!)

I have to think that thinking positively helps in other ways too - it just does. We all hate it when we go into a business and hear someone being negative, hurtful, scorning and awful to the clerk at the counter. I hate it when I was being talked down to when I worked in retail, and it's the number one reason I would prefer my girls to work in businesses where they have less chance to deal one on one with irate customers. It just pulls you down to hear all the complaining - but I will say this; working at Avis Rent-A-Car Reservation Center in Tulsa for a year between the hours of 5:30 p.m. and 2:45 a.m. was a blast!!! I was on the complaint line. That was my job. I suppose the people at Avis got a hoot out of listening to me explain the rules and regulations to the multitudes of customers who would call in with the stupidiest of complaints in order to get a credit on their next rental. I was fun....positively fun.

After working the complaints for a while they'd switch me to what the called the "Death" line because they wanted to shake up things for me and not allow me to become depressed from all the complaints, which were constant actually. We had four reservationists devoted to the complaints on a 24/7 basis. The Death line was even more interesting - I'd get calls from Monroe, LA....a sheriff stating that a 1/2 body was found in the trunk of the Avis car. He wasn't sure if the De-Ce-Dant was a customer or a victim of something gone a bit bad. He's say the De-Ce-Dant may be a man, but he wasn't going to pull the britches off to see! We'd go over the necessary paper work, and I'd think to myself - wow, I thought I was having a bad day. Just thinking about the things I heard over the Death line for Avis really pushes me to be more positive in my daily thoughts and conversations - you never know. You could be renting a car one minute, and being described by the local sheriff as a 1/2 body the next...and him not even willing to pull off your pants to try and identify you!

Well, positive thinking has gotten me further in life than being sour-headed, foul-mouthed, or mean. I can be all of those things - but the good life, the sweet life, the really-blessed-in-your-face life has to be a product of being genuinely happy, and if chocolate is simply not available to assist that process, thinking positive can be. Maybe the chocolate will appear just because you were hoping it would! (Making the world a better place to sell insurance)

Yeah, about that.....

I was trying my hardest to get through to the Financial Aid assistant's head at the Oklahoma State University (OKC branch) in order to receive the necessary information I needed to receive regarding my child's eduction -when out of nowhere (actually, my purse) came the unforgivable! The highly recognized, very upbeat, pumped up fight song of their rival school - Oklahoma University's "Boomer Sooner". Yes, I will admit, we live in a house-divided. My son and I, because we're extremely intelligent people; always on top of the situation, always on the ready - you know, are OU fans. My two daughters on the other hand - because OSU-OKC is so much closer to home, they have friends that attend the school, and it has the academic programs they're interested in - have left the sanctity of our union, and have become Oklahoma State Cowboys. I will say this: they are not "fans". Reuben and I are die-hard Sooners, thank you.

The ringtone sounds off! It's blaring, I'm ignoring it. I'm trying to make my point to the woman behind the desk - she's the one thing at this moment coming between my littlest and her books. She's glaringly (and alarmingly) stoic, unmoving, not even thinking about budging on the fact that the FAFSA, or student aid, can be incorrect. It is incorrect and I continued to make my argument, going so far as to pull out evidence and proof positive in my favor. I know I'm right about this you see, so I don't let up. I'm vigilant! All the while my purse is throbbing and screaming the beat of the drums - I paid extra for the animated version. I use it for an alarm clock in the mornings too - it's very effective. I don't believe anyone (even the dead) could sleep through 2 rounds of Boomer Sooner blaring over the speakers just inches from their head. Gives me that start I need each day to face the world -or tackle it, kickoff is less than a week away.

You know you're living in Oklahoma this time of year. You're not allowed to be dead because it won't be an excuse for NOT choosing sides. You either wear Red or you wear Orange. You have a choice -and that's it. You can be a Sooner or a Cowboy. Forget the fact that I actually physically and academically surrendered my time and money to Oklahoma City University, where our colors were blue and gold and our mascot for many years was a bug -seriously, it was a bug - a tough scarab yes, but nevertheless - an insect. In Oklahoma, and probably in Texas, you make the decision early in life if you have the choice - or you follow the footsteps of your parents in making your own indelible decision, but a decision will be made. You must, and I mean MUST wear red or orange this time of year, and you must be proud. It's the way it is.

So, here I sit today in enemy territory, trying to get my daughters' education paid for with federal monies - it will happen. I, like the steadfast rock standing before me, am a strong and unmovable force - I wear RED.....but if she's nice I'll say thank you.

Boomer Sooner!

'ello Aloe!

You know, for being the brilliant and often outlandishly intelligent person that I am - I can really be a dummie from time to time. I have to stop making fun of my Aries son for running straight into things, or for opening his mouth without thinking. I'm forever telling him how he needs to read the instructions, work with someone who has the experience he's trying to gain before jumping head-straight into a project...good advice right - so why am I the one who just drank over 12 ounces of full strength aloe vera juice without consulting the label to find out that the recommended adult dosage is something like 2 ounces a day? I think the word "laxative" will be in my immediate future, but at least the word "relief" will be as well.

I was sitting at the computer, this computer, minding my own business (because that's what I do! I mind my own business when suddenly and often without permission, life happens!! Just like that - splat! Right in my face.) I found an article about the benefits and the antidotes of aloe vera juice - not the gel, not the stuff you put on your skin for burns or scrapes, no, the juice, the 100% full bodied undiluted juice in big fat bottles sold expensively at the nearest health stores or online for upward of 50% off - free shipping. That's the stuff I'm talking about. First you get it for the benefit, then you get it for less. You spend more because you weren't really spending it beforehand but now you can actually save and get the cleansing of a lifetime!

Well, seems that aloe vera juice does sooooooo much more. Much much much more than just help one get the hard, plastered, microbiographic materials clinging to your overworked and bloated intestines - you can actually (get this) regrow cells inside of your insides by simply drinking aloe vera juice daily. Seriously, it works not only as an anti-inflammatory agent for all things ailing you, it works toward the recreation of cells in the stomach, the intestines, and everything going from the opening in your mouth to the opening just below the toilet lid. (OK, that was graphic and unnecessary, but I got your attention didn't I?) This stuff sounds cool doesn't it? I didn't want to wait for the 2 ounces to do the job I guess. Actually, to be honest I didn't read the label I just saw the pictures on line of the full glass of liquid and I did the same thing - or so I thought I did.

I opened the bottle of aloe vera and promptly poured 12 ounces of it into a tall clear glass. The color can vary because this strength though claiming to be full strength is not 18x pure or something it's just 100% pure juice. Acting like the over achiever that I have always been, I then squeezed 1/2 a large lemon into it, and yes - down it went! TASTY! So, now I wait. I wait, and I wait. I bet it won't be too much of a surprise when I have to go and go and go tonight huh? But the good news is, that the candy apples and all the fixings that we attached to them this weekend at Cafe' Bauer will be gone too. That was one hell of a night! Nothing is quite as fun as audio taping a bunch of women making caramel and candied apples, then dipping them into various candies, marshmallows, chocolate pieces, coconut, and sprinkles - then as you guessed probably, just like at a wedding shower you play the tape loudly for all to hear. Naturally you'll want to be sipping (gulping) large amounts of wine or doing tequila shots when you replay the tape...makes for a much more enjoyable event.

Some of the things you hear women say out loud - while drinking wine or tequila - well, think about it: "You stick that in the other end stupid", "This could get messy", "It's suppose to be hotter right?", "Where do you put it after you've done that part?" and my favorite "Oh my gosh, I just got it all over my face, help me - no hurry, it's runny". Something tells me I'm going to need this aloe vera - my apple was a big fat red delicious. I dipped it first in chocolate then the caramel - I think it was suppose to be the other way around. I then rolled it in sprinkles and pressed slivered almonds all over it....DANG it was good. I think the worst thing I heard myself say was "Damn, I can't get my mouth around it". That was funny, you have to admit, that was funny - even funnier when you consider the 3rd tequila.

Viva la Aloe Vera! God's answer to everything wrong inside and out of you.

Who. Steppenwolf. Yes. RUSH!

OH God, the music! I just got my new MP3 player, and have absolutely no idea how to download it correctly; it's not an iPod, it's a Sanyo I think - so I did what anyone would do. I found a kid, I gave the kid the machine, a stack of CDs and $20.00 - can you believe I first thought I could get away with only paying $10? Please. What year am I living in? Obviously, by the titles, and the names of the bands headlining my new player - I'm hovering in the 70's. I'm doing so (this time) without the smoke, without the drink, without the crazy guy's pants hanging off my VW's bumper - who the hell was that guy anyway? He just sort of showed up at the party and used my car as a hotel room - sorry, no shower, Bugs are rather quaint that way. I guess he could have poured the water from my flower vase over his head and called it even.

I remember in high school falling in love with bands that were just a little bit older than me - Yes, Rush, Steppenwolf, Who, Rolling Stones - because before that I had been in love with the Bee Gees, Beatles, Beach Boys, and Billy Joel. About the time Adam Ant came out I decided to give up the punky new age crap and go for the older more sophisticated music of the harder, more manly rockers - those not wearing leather pants, but sticking with dirty old Levis and letting their hair grow out naturally (forgetting the tease and made up faces) I was simply not a KISS fan like my friends were. Garth Brooks grew up about 6 miles from me, he dated a friend of mine - and no, in 1978 the man was NOT into country - his hair was long, he was a rock as they get, and the day I saw him mimicking Gene Simmons may very well have been the day I went home and kissed my poster of the band "AMERICA". There are just somethings yes, we thank God for - His unanswered prayers as Garth later wrote and sang about. I own every record GB every put out, even that silly Chris Gaines CD - but I do prefer my Garth wearing jeans, and I do prefer my Garth, crazy as he is on stage, to be wearing a hat!

So - let the kids tell me to turn it off, turn it down. Let them come up behind me in my OWN house and slam my bedroom door shut to close off the screaming and the whining of those Van Halen guitars.....oh wait, the fantasy.....Alex.....just one ...one...more...moment, awwww, yes...thank you for your indulgence, that man was incredibly - - talented. My daughters get mad at me for not having sex with him, but what I smile about is my own damn business now isn't it? I do love my music and I do love it loud. There's a reason I have various ringtones assigned to the kids now - my son has an obvious one: Steppenwolf's BORN TO BE WILD. Say no more.

Let it rock!

My Favorite Felon

His name is Jeff. There is NO WAY I'm going to tell you his last name. I don't know how real life detectives and police officers do this - I was just walking down the street yesterday, minding my own business - because that's what I do, and I get this: "Hey Jude! Hey Jude!". I turned around, there was this guy, a normal looking guy, sort of tall, sort of thin, sort of young, but I didn't know who he was - or why he knew who I was. He caught up to me, because I stopped, and he said "You don't remember me? I'm you favorite felon!" OH, Oh, my gosh, yes, I remembered him. He was, as he said, my favorite felon. I met him several times in 1995 when the attorney I worked for represented him in a drug sting. You can guess the rest. I haven't seen him since 1995 for a reason.

Jeff was the funniest criminal I had ever had the pleasure of interviewing for the purpose of having contact information, basic and/or general knowledge to see whether or not my boss would want to represent him. I'm not saying the boy should have gotten a better attorney, after all, he admitted his guilt to me - then told the 12 jurors all about how he was set up, entrapped by the policeman he eventually sold cocaine to, and you know the story he told. It was a sad and drawn out tale, one that I'm sure broke the hearts of his mom and his girlfriends at the time, but not the jury and certainly not the D.A. Jeff went straight to the big house and he's just now getting to see the light of day. He told me he's been out about four months, he has a job, he's going to college (like I told him to in 1995) and he's becoming a - get this - detective. I don't know how that works. I don't know if you can become a law enforcement officer once you've been convicted and have served over 12 years for a crime you didn't admit to. I hope he's serious, I hope he gets his life on track, the one thing that bothers me if his venue. He should seriously consider moving if he's going to be going after the guys he ran around with in the 90's.

What I liked about Jeff then, and I like about him now, is his genuine kindness. He was a man who was convicted, he was a serious threat, but he was a humanitarian in his own mind. According to Jeff, he only sold coke to adults. He only sold it to people who could afford it, and he actually paid taxes on what he earned - that was the part that made me laugh. I asked him what he claimed to be his occupation on the 1040A form. He said he wrote "Sales". You just have to love a man with conviction - even if he has convictions. Another thing that endeared Jeff to me in 1995; just 13 days after I first met him he was involved in the rescue efforts of the Oklahoma City Bombing. Jeff the felon - digging through rock and wreckage to give hope and life to others. He went to jail shortly after that day. I know I wrote to him a dozen times to encourage him to read and write, to go to college if they'd let him, and to be careful in the pen. One thing he had going for him (he says) was the FACT, the absolute FACT that he never harmed a child.

What was it that Jesus said "Comfort those in prison." Jeff has a new hope. I can't believe he recognized me after all this time - but it was good to hug a man who I believe could be a new man. God, I hope so. The world could use a few more Jeffs, but with less sales convictions.