Sometimes Poetry Interrupts my Sleep!

I dreamed this. I decided to write it out. See if you can figure out my dreaming - see if you can grasp the comparison to Poe.

No Cask to Share

Two fools bound together
But Heart has taken stand
To lead the first fool, soul
To end. Running sands

A corridor - a life
Twisted tunnels. Stairs
My motley colored beater
Pulled and lured through tears

Fastened through all time
One but we are torn
How my heart has suffered
Loving. Fallen. Forced.

Just a little further
Drink to ease your ail -
Oh my friend, this is your end
I'll brick by brick prevail.

Angered by my last insult
A thousand Heart had taken
But this final love I chose
For this - I won't be wakened

Chained to walls Heart led me to
At the end - destined
Heart has fallen for a man
Soul can't have - or loosen

At my end, my motley core
Has given up to lose
While I, my very being
Chained - cannot choose

A carnival upstairs somewhere
Awaits us to return
Heart and Soul have loved their last
For better or for ruin



Jude Stringfellow
September 10, 2007

Where Do I Sign?

Some soldiers, like these two, just can't get enough of the Army cooking I guess! Even though both now have received their Honorable Discharges from the U.S. Army, both have resigned and are willing and wanting to serve you and me again! I don't know whether to smack them up side the head, or to hug them and say "Thank You!" I think I'll just cry.

So what is it about serving in the Army that makes these perfectly good looking, healthy, energetic, seemingly intelligent people (and hundreds of thousands like them) want to stay in when they have the opportunity to fly? We all know it isn't the pay. The benefits aren't bad, the educational program is even tolerable, but for most of them it is the opportunity to finish the job(s) they started a few years back. They started working and they got really good at something and then it ended - sometimes slower than they anticipated, sometimes faster. For Bigenho, the girl G.I., it was the boy G.I. standing next to her. He and she are actually - dare we say it out loud and over the internet - IN LOVE! They're getting married. They actually think they look good together, and from the smiles on their faces when they're standing close enough to feel each other's body heat (Laura is secretly smelling the fabric softener she slipped in Marcus' laundry) they think that rejoining is not only the best choice, it's the one that makes the most sense to them - they have unfinished business!

Our men and women both come out of their service experience with a new awareness of what it is to be a leader. Perhaps applying the trades and techniques they've learned over the past few years in the civilian world just doesn't make as much sense. You know, you can't very well get to work at 0500 if your civilian job starts over three hours late! Forget about clocking in and out, these Army people don't know how to do that - they're 24/7/365. It's hard for an Army soldier once released into the wilderness of the business world to stop standing at attention when the boss comes into sight. It's even harder for them to stop looking both left and right when they come to an intersection in the office cubicles - imagine their plight. (Imagine them standing in front of their empty clothes closets wondering what to wear since drab green and dust are no longer options!

So I say this, GREAT GUNS to Bigenho and Levering - thank you both! Thank you for loving each other, for holding onto dreams, for making new and exciting decisions at such a young age - and thank you both for your service to the world, to the country, to the states and people you represent - and for protecting me. I love you!

HOOAH!

P.S. But DON'T YOU THINK for a second that I'll let Reuben do that! He better get his butt home, go to college, become the coach he was destined to be, and just look good on my couch! Hahaha

Don't Try to Fool A Mother!

If THIS was the first thing you saw when you got up in the morning you might think twice about rolling out of that bed!

A picture very similar to this one was sent to me recently by a Sgt. Major who will remain unnamed. I don't wish to embarrass the man. He sent me a 12 mega pixeled, high definition photo with 16 military men/women dressed exactly like this. They were all on their knees, they had their weapons up in the air, and they had their camouflaged foliage covering their faces. There was a caption at the bottom of the photo it read: "Challenge Mom: Find your son!" I called the man immediately on the phone because he had included his cell number in the message as well. "Hello" I said to the man. "Are you ready for me to identify my son?" He laughed at me. He said "No, wait, let me go down the hall and do this right." He walked down the corridor of a building I could not see because he was in Alaska and I was in Oklahoma.

He then knocked three times on the door and yelled "Stringfellow! Get up!" It was about 7:10 a.m. on Saturday, my son usually sleeps in on Saturdays, but sleeping in to the Army means something more like 0600, so he couldn't really get mad at me if his Sgt. Major was demanding his presence. The door opened and I heard my son's voice asking his Sgt. Major if he needed to be somewhere - no, came the answer, "I'm on the phone with your mom, she's going to try and identify you from the shot we took last month of you guys in the clearing." I heard a laugh. I heard my son's voice again, he said "She can. She will."

"Go ahead" said the Sgt. Major, and I directed his attention to the boy (or the person in uniform) that was 7th from the right. He counted, he was quiet - then she said "Son of a bitch!" Reuben laughed and I said "You must be addressing my son Sgt. Major, as I am the Bitch - he is the son of the bitch." The SM laughed and asked how it was that out of 16 uniformed dressed soldiers, all looking what he thought was identical in size, shape, coloring, weapons, everything - how was it that I could find my son that readily? It seemed to him, impossible. I told the truth. I told him it took about a minute, it wasn't an immediate recognition. I had to do a bit of a study - but upon examining the knee caps of all the soldiers, and the stance, and the height and angle of the his elbow I was sure that my son was the 7th from the right. I was correct.

Well, it wasn't the first time I had actually identified my baby from a photo of seemingly identical subjects, but this one was a bit more challenging because of the subject matter. The first had been a football photo, a practice game where the boys were all giving their high-five in masse, and I just found him by his elbow - same right elbow; which today if I had to recognize him would be dressed in a cast since he has broken that arm recently. But the point was simple: Don't try to fool a mom! Ask the fathers to pick out their children, ask a brother to pick out a sibling, but don't try to pull one over on the woman who gave birth to that particular boy! That is MY son - the others are equally talented perhaps, equally good looking, perhaps they have attributes of greatness that my son does not at this time possess - but try as they may, they will never have my son's exact knee. They can not squat the same, bend the same, hold their head or arms the same, and they don't generate a vibration of extreme unity like my boy does when I see him (even in photographs).

I'm not really sure I could do it every time. I'm not sure I would be as successful if one of my girls were in the same situation - I would hope so, but I have not had that challenge come up. There's just something about a boy and his mother - he is the man of our house. He is the protector, he is the one we trust to make some of the difficult decisions that must be made - a role he assumed and has achieved successfully. The Sgt. Major said he was going to call his own mom next to see if she could find him - I warned him, it may depend of whether or not he could pick her out if he needed to. Did he have THAT strong of a relationship with her. He chuckled a bit and said "You know, maybe I could, maybe I couldn't - but I bet that old woman can spot me. I'll let you know!" I await that call.

Go Army!

Let Me Explain the Word "Warrant" to YOU.

I went to the post office today to pick up all the fan mail for my dog. Believe it or not, I answer anywhere from 100 to 200 pieces of mail every week for the sweetheart. I usually answer by e-mail, unless someone has given me a self-addressed stamped envelope - so if you're thinking of mailing us something, please do - but remember, I do have to keep the response short. So, there I am at the post office, staring at the mounds of letters and little presents when I see a very plain and ordinary white size 10 envelope with the seal of the Great City of Oklahoma City blazing right on the front - top left. Seems someone from DOWNTOWN wants to talk to me. I doubted the fine officers of our city wanted to have tea or set up a time where we could go over the fall line up of new uniforms. I could almost guess that someone out there was unhappy with one of my children. Since Reuben is safely in the Army, that leaves Caity. (If you know me, and you know I have another daughter named Laura, then you know that Laura couldn't possibly have upset anyone. It must be Caity.) I was correct in my assumption.

The letter started out badly. "We have a warrant for the immediate arrest of Caitlyn Brook Stringfellow" (this can't be good) Apparently, back in November 2006 my darling was involved in a little .... well, the word is larceny. She was in the presence of another young girl who was picked up for stealing - was my daughter innocent? No. She was right there with her, and she admitted her guilt. However, she didn't quite give the full and correct information to the kind officer, and therefore, another $195.00 ticket for submitting false information to a law enforcement officer was attached. Sweet child of mine. Sweet, sweet, child of mine! I take 100% responsibility for the mishap - I gave birth.

In the past 10 months since this event my darling has actually completed her probational community service, she's cleaned the church for more than 80 hours. She's been available for impromptu speeches at schools and other community locations wherein she has to admit her guilt and explain to others what it means to be caught, and to do the time for the crime. What she wasn't clear on was that she, my sweet cherub spawn from hell, was that she had to pay the $390 for the two offenses! That caused the computer to spit out this letter, and now my little white haired pumpkin is hiding in the closet so that she won't be seen on the streets! I'm sure I'll be able to make arrangements with the city, but I'm not going to tell her. I think it's very healthy for her to hide out on the down-low where I know exactly where she is. This stops her from driving without her license. It stops her from dancing in public without her shoes or her shirt! (Did I mention she's a hippie?) She has been seen in the general populous looking like the free spirit that she is, but at least ONE thing is for certain - this particular free spirit PAYS for everything she wants - no more 5-finger discounts for her. She has learned her lesson. 80 hours of cleaning toilets, mopping, sweeping, vacuuming, putting hymnals in their places, and carrying out the trash in the youth area has taught her a few things! Good things!

So, when I called her today I asked her if she knew what WARRANT meant. Her brother, God bless and protect him, didn't. He couldn't spell it correctly either had I asked, but I didn't ask, I realize he's publicly educated. Reuben had a couple of warrants out for his immediate detention because he left the state with outstanding tickets - all speeding! Boy oh boy! It cost me $1508.00 to put that man in the Army and it took a letter from his commanding officer to get him OK'd to swear in. He just didn't know the meaning of WARRANT - he more or less thought it mean "pay in the future sometime". So, I say that to say this - teach your children well, the ones you love, the ones you live with. It could very well mean the difference between having your car for the weekend and letting your brat have full control again.

I'm going to milk this warrant thing for weeks. I know she won't read my blog to find out the truth, and she won't know that I've paid it in full - so she'll think she's indebted to me! I love being a mom.

Literary Agents - Attention Please.

Calling all literary agents with good reputations - I am in need of getting my books published with a major house so that they can be placed in the millions of hands whose voices are calling for them around the world. My book "With a Little Faith" (2nd Ed.) has sold more than 20,000 copies, but it is ONLY available in the U.S. It is available through Amazon and through the publisher Xlibris, but it is too expensive and the shipping for overseas postage is so high it is impossible to sell. There is a second book now, "Faith Alone: Stories of an Amazing Dog". It has sold in the neighborhood of 6,000-8,000 copies in the almost six months it's been available and it will be blasting off the shelves for the publisher willing to take it. WHY? WHY do you ask?

This past week my dog Faith has been featured in more than a dozen tabloids in Europe. Don't ask me why. She's cute - really amazing, and I suppose the television stations that are calling me this week and setting up interviews (literally flying to Oklahoma to meet with me from different countries including Spain, Brazil, Korea, and Germany) have all read the articles. Faith is the Most Photographed Dog in the World. We know that - but now she's becoming more. She's becoming a media darling - you can check out her website at www.faiththedog.net and see where she's been on various television shows in America, but soon you'll see links to shows in many other countries.

Each and every time someone interviews me I ask them to promote my books so that I can give them a better deal on their interview or daily fee. I just hate to see someone pay too much for something - knowing how I would feel if it was coming out of my own pocket. That's the problem I'm having with the publisher Xlibris - they charge too much. They want people to pay upward of $25+ for a hardback book that is only 124 pages long! I wouldn't pay that much for it, and I wrote it! The book is actually an incredible book - they both are. One is meant for memoir readers, the other is for educational and/or information about our adorable little girl - both need to be picked up and printed by someone with a reputation of being able to get the books translated into German, Swedish, Finnish, Danish, Spanish, Portuguese, Japanese, French, and at least a couple of Chinese languages - please!

I can't understand why the books are not being picked up. We were featured on Oprah, Montel, Maury, Ripley's, and in over 100 magazines and newspapers around the world including the Guidepost (May 2007). I don't want people to see Faith on the news in the next few weeks and have to pay too much for a copy of the book - someone knows who can do this. Someone knows someone that can help. I know you do. Believe me, I've been getting on my proverbial knees and begging agents but they don't listen. They think it would be too big of a project! Too big? Too Big? Since when has that stopped someone?

You know - if you're a producer, an agent, a publisher, a printer - or you work with one, or know one - please...I'm not even asking for an advance. I just want the book available for people so that they can have it to share with those they love. Faith's message is so important - it amazes me how books about something less interesting or less powerful get pushed right through. Well, this time - we're going to do something about it - pray first, ask others to help, and get it done!

My e-mail address is: faith@faiththedog.net Please, if you can help, please do. The books are all published with ISBNs and copyrighted. They just need a home! Xlibris is good to get started with, but it can't be the home of the future for these books - Google my name, Jude Stringfellow, you'll see the books immediately. Please, the process takes a while! THANKS SO MUCH. I really do appreciate it.

This week alone I have been interviewed on the phone by 2 separate television shows in South Korea and next week a crew comes to film. Today I was filmed by ARD-TV of Germany, and last week the Brazilian crew came out for a little children's show sort of like Fraggle Rock. The Spanish TV show is similar. The attention is over the top wonderful, but we want to be able to help those who are asking for books - books are meant to be read, not sitting in the warehouse. I don't mind lowering the price to the point that I make little profit. I just want the books out there.

Again, thank you.

Silly Catholics! Tricks are for Baptists!

I have the distinction of being the BAPTIST by at least six of my friends. I don't know how I attract so many Catholics into my friendship, but I do. One of my favorite Catholic/Baptist stories over the years has been when my friend now for over 40 years - Robyn, called me once to ask me who Jacob's father was. I thought she meant some kid we were in high school with or something. We were about 18 at the time. She calls me in the middle of the night, laughing, really laughing - "Who's Jacob's father, come on, I want to win!" It took me a minute to think - it was Halloween - she was at a party, and you guessed it, she needed the answer to a very very simple Bible question: Who is the father of Jacob? I told her. She won. I have no idea what I had helped her win, but it started something that hasn't stopped - all my Catholic friends call me, e-mail me, write me, asking me questions that for me seem effortless: How many tribes are there in the nation of Israel? What does the name Babel mean? Where is the actual Garden of Eden located?

For grins and giggles I'll tell you about Janice. I love this woman. She and I had worked in offices downtown that were situated next to each other. I worked for a protestant employer, she worked for a Catholic employer, her friend, and one of the parishioners of her church actually. She and Bob both would routinely come over to our office for Biblical clarification and Mr. Moler and I would often laugh about it - here were were capable at the drop of a hat to spew out tidbits of trivia that could used best during a contest I suppose. Never did it make the end of the world seem inevitable. Janice came over to my office one Christmas. She had in her hands a little box. She gave me a gift that she claimed from the bottom of her heart was something that meant the world to her - and it was a showing of her personal belief in Christ through her personal religion. I accepted the box. Inside the box was a little, old, red and white plastic rosary with a small white crucifix at the bottom. The cross itself had been gnawed on. I could see the glimpse and gleam in Janice's eyes. She had chewed on the base of the cross once or twice during a particularly tough time in her life. Tornado, bad test in Algebra, something to that effect.

Janice wanted me to give her something that meant a lot to me, it had to be something that was meaningful too. It also, in keeping with the theme of her gift - be something of religious significance to my personal walk. I thought about my offering. The next day I arrived to work with the same giddy happiness that she had displayed toward me in handing me her gift. I reached out to her and handed my good friend a rather heavy rectangular shaped box. She could tell it was warm before she opened it. When the box was opened, and the glass 9x13 Pyrex casserole dish pulled out - we both had breakfast! Cinnamon bread casserole. She didn't get it. I was laughing so loud my boss had to come over to see what I was carrying on about. "Baptists", I explain "Like to eat!" I also gave my good friend a little pink Bible with her name engraved on it. I had underlined the Roman Road - all the verses necessary to lead someone to salvation through grace. She adored the gift - we all did.

Recently I got a call from another Catholic friend. Her heart was hurting. Her soul was torn. The man she had been married to for more than 25 years had divorced her about a year before. He had just sent her a message through the mail. It said that by the time she received it he would be dead. He was going to be committing suicide. He knew her thoughts and worries about his soul and he didn't want any of that: he had cancer, he was already mad at God he explained. He just wanted her to know that she was still the beneficiary of his estate. She was to take care of herself and the kids with the money. He knew he would be OK. He doubted that she thought he would be. He told her that her beliefs in God precluded her from knowing he was actually going to be at peace. She would think he would be sent directly to Hell for his act. He instructed her in his letter to call me...the Baptist. I love that. Call the Baptist.

Well, let me tell you what I told her. The 20+ years I sold insurance told me that his claim would be paid. They had purchased the insurance well over 2 years before his act of self destruction. She was relieved to hear that - she and the kids needed to be cared for, and she knew his body would need to be prepared and buried as well. What about the Hell thing? She desperately wanted to know. He had been correct; her beliefs didn't allow for such thoughts. It was sin. Good to have a Baptist in the mix from time to time. Whether you're a Protestant, a Catholic, Islamic, or any other religion - Jesus actually does love you. The truth is, that the real truth lies within your heart - you know the answer. There is ONLY one sin that will send you to Hell - NOT accepting Jesus. Simple.

Murder is murder. But it is forgivable. So, that being said - let me say this. My friend is in Heaven. He is at peace, and because I knew him to be the OTHER Baptist in her life - I know he didn't take his life easily. It was a decision he hated, I know he was a mush braver man than I could be - I'm too damn selfish. Oh, and another thing - you guilt ridden Catholic friends of mine who refuse to let me out of the Baptist church parking lot Sunday after Sunday, as you slowly roll past me, intentionally going slow enough to wave, smile, and even make faces at me on your way out of your own parking lot - Our church development committee just approved another egress from our property! Take that! Ha! We may actually make it to the restaurants before you - of course, we'll both still have to wait on the Methodists to clear from the tables. They cut their prayers short or something!

Life is NEVER Easy.

I'm working with my daughter Laura's producer right now. His name is Marvin McElvany, he's one of the best music mixers and producers in the Southwest. He's trying to download Laura's new mp3 track to the www.showcaseyourmusic.com/Laura site where you too can hear my darling little girl sing her heart out. The mix was literally completed in less than 1 hour, she had to record it before she left for Ozzfest this summer. I promised Marvin that in the future I would allow him a lot more time for such things - maybe she can be really professional and pay the man! He'd probably appreciate that.



So, I'm sitting at the office trying to download the CD when it dawns on me (after the 6th try) that the site only wants Mp3 files downloaded. I thought it was an Mp3. I thought that's what he said he recorded. I think he actually recorded .wma and .cda files - and maybe thought he downloaded Mp3 on the disks. Whatever he did he did a great job, and I'm just waiting for him to do his local magic again, uploading the correct file so we can all enjoy her lovely voice. Of course she's already picking on herself, and saying she could have done this, or she should have done that. I should consider this to be a good thing - she's a bit of a perfectionist, and that's good for a musician and for an artist. Laura is both.



So, so, so, so, I'm waiting - mother that I am, I get a bit nervous - OK, bitchy, when things don't just pop in and do what I expected them to do. I have to be sweet and wait and be kind. I hate waiting - but there are times (like this) when the wait is worth it. We were at Marvin's listening to the finished product before we were here downloading, and she sounded so great! It was great seeing her sitting at the computer with her headsets on, a little wracked from the anticipation of the first notes from the track - her voice, her project, coming to fruition. Well, he'll be the producer for her first real CD, a full CD probably and he'll get that big fat THANK YOU from the stage when she wins American Idol or accepts her first major reward. That should be worth a smile or two.

Gotta love ya Baby Girl! You did good!

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)