Basso for Hire

No Pun In Ten Did.

2014-06-17T15:31:00.002-04:00

At one point in the movie "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World," one character remarks, "He who would pun would pick a pocket."

Consider your pockets picked.

In a democracy it's your vote that counts.
In feudalism it's your count that votes.

A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall.
The police are looking into it.

A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said, "keep off the grass."

I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island,
but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.

The fattest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference.
He acquired his size from too much pi.

The soldier who survived mustard gas and pepper spray
is now a seasoned veteran.

Two silk worms had a race. They ended up in a tie.

Two hydrogen atoms meet. One says, "I've lost my electron."
The other says, "are you sure?"
The first replies, "yes. I'm positive."

Two fish swim into a concrete wall. One turns to the other and says, "dam."

There was the person who sent ten puns to friends, with the hope
that at least one of the puns would make them laugh. No pun in ten did.

New Blog Coming.

2014-05-28T10:48:00.001-04:00

Apparently I've been shown the error of my ways. I've called myself an aspiring writer. For what that's worth, I might as well call myself an aspiring king of the galaxy.

I'm doing a lot of compiling right now, for a series of posts on my favorite movies, and my favorite movie characters. I expect to start posting regularly starting in mid-June.

I think I need a new blog for this, as it will be a long series.

Anyway, my online pal Susan Lewis has a few words to say about being an "aspiring writer."
Aspiring Writer? Seriously?

Side note: I was NOT the person she mentions that volunteered to be Susan's eternal proofreader.

Excerpt A from "You're Who You Are," by Alan Andrews

2014-05-09T16:42:00.002-04:00

You’re Who You Are

by Alan Andrews

Last Friday

It was a matter of when and not if. But all four of the staff, and most of the clients in the section knew that Andy was going to explode. Tina cheerfully told everyone that now was a good time for a current events group in the next room. Ben got up from his seat and casually walked over to stand in the opposite doorway. Lois and Rich did a quick visual sweep of the room to make sure there were no sharp or heavy objects immediately within Andy’s reach.

The clients attending the Day Hab program at Bright Futures suffered from varying degrees of developmental disabilities. There were different groups, or “sections,” geared to meeting the individual needs and abilities of each client. These clients mostly lived in group homes run by different agencies, either one of the many non-profit entities, or by the New York State Office of Persons with Developmental Disabilities (OPWDD). Day Hab was where they came to work on social skills, activities of daily living (ADLs), community integration, self-advocacy, job skills, crafts, or volunteering, and in the case of “Strive” section, coping skills, conflict resolution, and behavioral alternatives.

All the clients in Strive were DD, or “Dual Diagnosed,” with psychiatric challenges in addition to whatever their “primary” developmental diagnosis was. Strive had a higher staff to client ratio than the other sections, because the safety of all the clients was of utmost importance. Sometimes the clients needed mentor-like assistance in channeling their frustrations into non-violent behaviors. Depending on the severity of the situation, the staff sometimes had to physically intervene, to keep clients from hurting others, or themselves. The goal in Strive, as in all of Bright Futures, was to give the clients the physical, emotional, and cognitive tools they needed to help them reach their fullest potential. Some of them would be able to get part time or even full time employment in the general community due to the efforts of staff members earning a little more than minimum wage.

Andy was in Strive. Andy had been in Strive for seven years, and would be there for the foreseeable future. He had seen staff members come and go, and none of them would ever forget him. Andy could make you laugh when he told a story or a joke, and was usually one of the first clients to make sure everyone was crossing the street safely when out in the community. He loved Foghorn Leghorn and his tattered backpack, which he carried with him everywhere. On good days, he was eager to answer questions asked by staff during group discussions, although his answer was invariably, “B: Don’t hit staff.”

Andy indeed left an impression on everyone who’d ever worked with him. Unfortunately, some of those impressions were physical in nature. All four of the staff members in the room today had been scratched, punched, kicked, spit on, or bitten by Andy. Rich, who bruised like a peach, had a baseball sized bruise on his forearm from a bite over a week ago. Ben still had fluid on his left knee from a swift kick two years ago. The only reason Andy had been able to deliver with the kick was because Ben had been distracted while blocking the chair Andy had just thrown at him.

Most of the other dozen or so clients got up and followed Tina into the small group room just across the hall, although John, Tony and Peggy refused. That was certainly their right --- --- .

Tony wouldn’t have moved in an earthquake, or probably not even if he was on fire, no matter how staff requested, urged, or cajoled. He’d rather stay seated in the same chair he sat in every day, and either look through his spiral notebook full of band names or, more likely, sleep. Part of this was due to his meds, which helped to calm him, but also tended to make him very lethargic. The other reason was plain stubbornness.

John and Peggy stayed in the big room as much to watch the Andy Show’s opening number as for any reason, although you’d never get them to admit it. The reasons they gave were that they both wanted to finish what they were working on. In Peggy’s case that meant making a bead necklace. John wouldn’t leave because his next scheduled cigarette break was in five minutes, and his smokes were stored in his locker in the big room. He wasn’t about to be separated from them, and he wasn’t about to miss his cigarette break at exactly 2:00pm. He’d been known to approach staff members who were in the middle of a physical intervention with a violent client, tap them on the shoulder, and ask, “can I have my cigarette now?”

“Andy, it’s really nice outside,” Rich said. “How ‘bout we go for a walk?” It was worth a shot. Sometimes a redirection like this worked, even with someone as volatile as Andy.

Not this time, though.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! NOOOO!” Andy screamed at the top of his lungs, but remaining in his seat. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck You, and FUCK TIM, TOO!”

Tim was a former staff member who had worked with Andy years before, and was one of Andy’s favorites. “Favorite” in this context, meant that he was the object of Andy’s affection (practically adoration), as well as the target of some of his more violent aggression. Andy was diagnosed with borderline personality, and also had little or no concept of time. His “behaviors” could be triggered by the weather, the brand of peanut butter on his sandwich, or something that happened ten years earlier. This made it next to impossible to know what was upsetting him.

“No problem, Andy,” Rich said. “We can stay right here. It was just a suggestion. Let me know if you change your mind later.”

Lois got up while Rich was talking and positioned herself near the door through which Tina and the other clients had left. From there, she could keep an eye and ear opened in case Tina needed any assistance. Lois and Ben now had both doors covered, were able to provide support for Rich when the shit hit the fan.

Andy was not going to be redirected. Not this time. Ben could tell he was looking for just one more reason to come out of his chair and either start throwing things, like his walkman (the third one his residential staff had bought for him this year), or swinging his backpack like a mace. That one thing might be another attempt at conversation, or a lack of it. It could be a phone ringing, or even direct eye contact. Andy wasn’t screaming at the moment, but continued to curse Rich, Tim, and anyone else who popped into his mind.

“I’m not fucking going for a walk with you, Rick (Andy was notoriously bad at getting people’s names right). You know. You know. YOU KNOW! Not you. Not Tim. Trish! Tim’s gonna find out about this! YOU KNOW!!!”

Ben exchanged a glance with Rich, then with Lois. Each of them gave him an almost imperceptible nod. The nods meant that everyone was on the same page. The Strive staff was, as always, ready for anything. This crew’s motto was, “we got this,” and indeed they did. They were better trained and more experienced in crisis intervention and prevention than any other section in Bright Futures. In fact, more so than any other agency Ben knew of. Working with this particular group of clients, you had to be.

You could never have an “off” day, when you “just weren’t feeling it,” because if you weren’t in tune with the emotional and physical states of your clients (or your co-workers), someone could get hurt, and someone could lose their job.

Staff burnout was a common occurrence in Day Hab, or in any other area where you worked with the developmentally disabled. The pay was meager, and the responsibilities were great. Some people simply couldn’t deal with not knowing whether or not someone was going to try to kiss you, hug you, shake your hand, try to sneak a quick feel, or throw a full can of soda at you.

John couldn’t exactly tell time, per se, but he could recognize “cigarette time” on any clock: digital or analog (with or without numerals on the face). Even on a sundial. They’d showed him a sundial once at Hulen Park last summer. John had been fascinated when Tina told him that it was a clock. He stepped right up to it, and it blew him away when he blocked the sun and the hands disappeared. After he figured out where to stand to properly observe it, he watched it for ten minutes, then at 1pm called out, “cigarette time!”

Now, the clock on the wall reach “cigarette time” and John, also like clockwork, rose from his chair and walked directly to Rich, either oblivious or indifferent that Rich was working directly with Andy at the moment, and that there were two other staff members able to assist him.

“Sir, can I have my cigarette now?”

John always referred to the male staff as “sir.” It wasn’t something he’d been taught by his staff, either at Day Hab or his residence. Ben suspected it has just a holdover from John’s early childhood in the South, where “yes sir,” and “yes ma’am” came as naturally as breathing. Interestingly though, he rarely addressed female staff as “ma’am,” although it occasionally slipped out.

John approached Rich and was standing so that he was almost, but not quite, blocking Rich’s line of sight to Andy. Rich was the last staff member that should be going to fetch the smokes at this moment. He needed to remain engaged with Andy. There was a delicate balance act going on that would determine the severity of Andy’s next outburst.

Ben crossed the room and approached the locker where the cigarettes were kept.

“I’ll get that for you, John. Come on over here.”

From down the hall, someone in the small group room laughed out loud, either at a joke Tina was telling, or at something someone else had said. Lois glanced down the hall to make sure everything was still in hand there. In Strive, laughter could quickly escalate into shouting.

John followed Ben to the locker. Andy was still muttering curses under his breath at Rich, but was gradually ramping up, getting louder.

Tony slept on.

Peggy chose this moment to decide she was bored with the beads. Or maybe she just wanted to get the show going. She gave an exasperated sigh, slapped both palms down on the table, and called over to Ben.

“Can I have my cigarette, now?”

“Peggy, you know you don’t smoke,” Ben replied, smiling. “There are no cigarettes here for you. But if you want to come outside with John and me to get some fresh air while he smokes, you’re welcome to join us.”

John apparently understood only part of this conversation. He tended to be paranoid about people trying to take “his stuff,” especially cigarettes. In any event, the longer he had to wait to light up, the more irritable he became.

“She not getting my cigarettes! How come you giving that crazy bitch my cigarettes?”

“First of all, John,” said Ben, “I would never give your cigarettes to anyone else. These are yours. That would be wrong. I’m sorry if you misunderstood me. But also, there is no reason to start calling anyone names like that. Peggy doesn’t want your cigarettes. She was just joking with me. And she can certainly come outside with us while you light up. Now come on, I’ve got your smokes right here. Let’s go.”

John turned to Peggy and murmured, “sorry,” and turned to follow Ben. Peggy grabbed a handful of beads from their plastic container and flung them backhanded at John.

“Go smoke your damn cigarette, stupid!”

John spun back around.

“BITCH!” He lunged across the room with his arm raised to slap Peggy across the face.

Rich, having the better angle, put himself between the two clients and deflected the low with his left forearm. Peggy laughed and spat at both of them.

Tony raised his head and said, “why is she calling me stupid? I don’t like that bitch.”

Lois started to explain to Tony that Peggy was not speaking to him, and that’s when Andy realized he was no longer the center of attention. He jumped up from his chair, grabbed his backpack, and swung it at the back of John’s head.

Ben was able to grab the bag by the strap. Andy lost his grip and swung, his now empty right hand flailing wildly through empty space, several inches short of his target.

“LEAVE RICH ALONE!” Andy screamed.

Andy pressed on with the assault. Ben caught him from behind, bringing both arms down in front of Andy, which pinned Andy’s arms to his torso. Ben grabbed the furious client’s left wrist with his right hand, and the right wrist with his left, so that Andy’s arms were crossed in front of him. Ben made sure that his feet were firmly planted, and that the combined weight of both men was distributed properly to prevent a fall or a wrenched back.

Unfortunately this wasn’t the first time Andy had ever been “wrapped.” Far from it. He knew enough to go slightly limp in the legs as Ben established his grip. Ben now had to lower himself deeper than ideal at the knees or Andy would slip right through to the floor, with Ben on top of him.

The whole philosophy behind physical interventions with the developmentally disabled was to ensure that a client did not get hurt. No matter how violent they might become. There were no blows struck by staff. Ever. The techniques were defensive, not offensive in nature.

The change in balance and leverage enabled Andy to turn his head to the left and just reach Ben’s left arm with his teeth. Ben’s lightweight flannel shirt provided a little protection from penetration, but not much.

God, it hurts to get bit, Ben thought. This one was a classic, too. Andy’s teeth locked into Ben’s inner left arm above the bicep, and just deep enough to catch some of the meat, in addition to the more tearable skin.

“Aggh!” Ben grunted through clenched teeth. His first instinct was to do two things. First, he wanted to pull his arm free, but that would only ensure that a chunk of it came loose in Andy’s mouth.. Second, he had a visceral urge to sink his own teeth into the side of Andy’s neck and shake him like a terrier killing a rat.

Neither choice was viable. The first would cause him serious injury. The second would cost him his job.

Instead, Ben pushed his arm further into Andy’s bite, to keep him from pulling away or biting down harder. He raised his arm up higher and rolled it a little, enough that his bicep was covering Andy’s nose. After a couple of seconds, Andy opened his mouth to take a breath, and Ben was able to pull free.

The pain was excruciating. This was his worst bite, by far. But with the combination of his shirt sleeves and the adrenalin, Ben couldn’t tell yet if he was bleeding. Fortunately, he was able to gain better grip on Andy’s wrists and re-establish the wrap.

All this happened within a few seconds. Rich was still between John and Peggy, who were now distracted by Andy and Ben enough that Rich was able to verbally de-escalate them. Then Lois was at Ben’s side.

“You got it?” She asked.

“Yeah. Just make sure I got a clear path to the door.”

Lois said, “you’re good to go. C’mon.”

She made sure the doorway was cleared, and Ben backed through the hallway and into the “lounge,” with a screaming, cursing, kicking Andy still in tow....

******

II.

Sunday Afternoon

"If you're determined to continue wallowing in your own misery, don't act like you want me to help you."

Ben ran the words around in his mouth and over his tongue. They were every bit as bitter now as they had ever been. More, actually, considering that now he was directing them at himself. It was one of his "favorite quotations" on his online profile. He cited himself as the originator of the quote.

When Ben originally coined the phrase, he was thinking of those he referred to as "professional victims:" people who spent their lives blaming society, their parents, spouses, kids, race, political parties, or anything other than themselves for their unhappiness, misfortune, personal appearance, or general miserable lot in life. Those who looked to avoid responsibility at any cost.

There were whole multi-billion dollar industries, Ben told himself, built on keeping the miserable miserable. Because we love to hear that it's not our fault, we can just blame ANYONE but ourselves. And now here he was, feeling sorry for himself, when he had let himself get into a funk of his own creation.

What a great way to spend the evening," he thought. "Ignoring your own advice."

Ben hauled himself off the sofa, went to his closet and grabbed his sneakers. If nothing else, he thought he'd at least get a good walk in. An access point to History Trail passed less than a half mile from his house, and if he hustled, he could get in at least 4 miles before it got too dark.

As he left the house, Ben reminded himself to bring the garbage can back up the driveway on his return. After all, garbage day had come and gone, so the oversized plastic bin would be empty, and was going to require another refuse sacrifice come morning.

There was just enough breeze this mid-October afternoon, and the temperature was just cool enough that he knew he wasn't going to work up too much of a sweat, unless he really pushed himself. That suited his purposes fine for now. Ben started off at a brisk walk that he knew he could keep up for several miles. Almost as soon as he reached the end of the road, he could feel his funk starting to dissipate. A squirrel in the maple on his right gave him a good cussing out, and Ben nodded up at them and said aloud, "yeah, I know. You're the baddest of the bad. There's no way I'm going to try to steal your nuts." The squirrel wasn't buying it, though, and continued to call Ben every name in rodent lore until he was a good twenty yards past the tree.

Ben turned left toward the paved trail, and went ahead and pick up his pace just slightly. This walk was more for sorting his head out than for exercise, but it wouldn't hurt to multi-task. By the time he was on the trail proper, headed toward Monroe, Ben was walking just fast enough that it really was still a walk and not a jog. There were usually fewer people down that way than up towards the school, and he didn't want to be distracted by the show ponies (Dibbs's word for the women who ran and worked out more to be seen than to actually be in shape - spandex, bare midriffs, and running shoes with little footie socks with the little poof ball on the back that matched everything else they were wearing). Sure, they were fun to look at, but Ben didn't need his mind cluttered with bouncing ponytails, flexing thigh muscles, or spandex sweat marks making a dark V starting in the small of the back and pointing downward between the buttocks....

"Oh, for crying out loud! They're not even out here and they're distracting me anyway," Ben thought to himself. "Focus, big guy," he said.

Ben forced himself to flick a mental image of his checklist of priorities up to the forefront of his brain, visions of perts and perkies flitting away (for the time being, anyway).

First, dig up any old documentation you still have on retirement investments. Absolutely the last thing he wanted to look at or do for two reasons. It confused the hell out of him, and in any case, he had next to nothing saved. But keep putting it off and see what happens when you're too old and beat up to keep throwing yourself into crisis interventions, cowboy.

Second, get the car over to Balki's before the brakes are too far gone. So far it probably just needed pads, but if he waited much longer, the rotors would need work too, and that was just more money that wasn't there but would have to be spent.

Third, get hold of Dibbs and schedule some rehearsal time. THEN you can book studio time for recording.

Fourth, prep the chicken tonight, then stick it in the fridge. Don't wait til tomorrow when you get home, because if you work late, then there won't be time. And don't try to go to bed and convince yourself you'll do it in the morning, because…

...Fifth, remember you're going into work early tomorrow to get started on the monthly activity plans. That's the only time you're going to be able to get to it, because there's a full moon tonight, so once the guys come in, it's going to be all hands on deck.

Sixth, all the regular stuff like feeding the dog, yourself (splurged for the liver and bacon), clean up the kitchen, pick up all the clutter in the living room and bedroom, and do a quick recon through the bathroom to make sure it's up to receiving a female tomorrow evening.

So much to do, and if he didn't get everything done, it was going to end up biting him in the butt.

"Look," Ben said out loud, "quit worrying about everything that could go wrong and just tackle one thing at a time. Your biggest obstacle to getting things done is your own overthinking of every possible parameter."

It was late enough that the rabbits and deer were active now. One fat doe was about twenty yards ahead of him on the trail. She was trying to ignore the human approaching her, and casually kept walking a few steps up the pathway, her hooves clicking on the pavement. Occasionally she'd glance back over her shoulder at him, twitching her tail in mild annoyance. When Ben berated himself out loud, however, she froze and stared straight at him, all pretense of nonchalance gone.

As Ben continued to walk in her direction, the doe started getting more paranoid, but she was still reluctant to leave the path. Finally she flashed her white tail up at him and bounded into the woods to their left, where she could keep a few trees and bushes between the big, bad, man thing and herself. Ben reached the two mile marker, and as he turned to head back to the house, he whistled loudly at the doe. She froze where she stood, her tail still standing straight up in the air.

"Okay, Mama! You're in the clear." Ben called out to her. He laughed at her as he turned, and heard her snort at him and stamp on front foot on the ground.

Walking back, Ben wondered at how deserted the path was this evening. He'd been walking for about a half hour, and hadn't seen a single person, let alone any bouncy, flouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun show ponies. Not even the fat guy with the sweet recumbent bike that he seemed to encounter every time he was out here. It was a little, well, odd.

Less than a mile from home, but still on the path, Ben heard a rushing sound behind him. He could hear snapping undergrowth as something big and fast was tearing through the brush. As he turned to see what was approaching, Ben saw a doe, almost definitely his former walking buddy, burst through the brush and tear headlong down the path directly toward him. She appeared to be in such a blind panic that didn't even see him. Or if she did, she didn't care. Ben waved his arms out to his sides and shouted, and the doe veered at the last instant, actually brushing his left hip and lower rib cage as she passed. Ben could see the whites of her eyes as she rushed by.

Not hesitating an instant over the near collision, the doe continued running until she was out of sight. This wasn't the long, graceful, bounding leaps of a whitetail under general alarm circumstances, but rather a blazing streak of fur and blurred legs. She was in a full panic over something behind her (behind them) in the woods.

When the doe finally plunged back into the woods out of sight, Ben stared in its direction for a few seconds, until it occurred to him to wonder what had caused it to royally freak out and reverse course in the first place. He looked back where it had reappeared. Standing still and trying to breathe quietly, he watched and listened, with his hands on his hips.

That's when his left hand felt something wet and sticky. Ben raised his hand in front of his face. The sun hadn't set yet, but daylight was already fading. Still, Ben could make out a tuft of blood-smeared fur covering about half of his palm.

The surge of adrenalin that had dumped into his system when the deer almost barreled into him now turned his body cold and clammy. He thought that at least now he understood what had happened. It was hunting season, after all, and someone had apparently failed to make a clean kill.

That sucked for the doe, Ben thought. Hopefully she wouldn't make it far before she collapsed. He'd seen it before. It could have been a lung shot, for instance: lethal, but not instantaneous. He hoped it was quick, or that the hunter was a good enough tracker to find and finish the animal before it got too dark.

Still, being that near a hunt, nearing twilight, and standing there dressed in his usual grey and black sweats probably wasn't a good idea. He didn't want to be mistaken for the deer himself. Ben turned back down the path and broke into a jog toward home. Suddenly the idea of wallowing in his own misery and brooding about life back at the house didn't seem like such a bad idea. He'd keep an eye out for the doe on the way back. If he found it lying wounded somewhere, he'd try to figure out a way to end it's suffering. Maybe he could snap it's neck. That would be the most certain solution. He didn't relish the idea, but it felt like the right thing to do. Failing that, if he did run into the hunter or hunters, he could at least tell them where he'd last seen it.

Ben didn't see another living thing the rest of the way home. Nor did he see any more signs of the deer. As he came to the end of his long, gravel driveway, he remembered the garbage can. Ben grabbed the handle and started pulling it up to the garage.

"That’s not right," Ben said out loud. The can was heavier than it should have been, but not as heavy as it had been when he'd brought it out the previous morning. Some jerk must have dumped some of their own garbage in his can.

Great. Hopefully whoever it was had at least had everything in a bag, so he wouldn't have to dig in there and bag it himself. The collectors that worked for All-Orange wouldn't take loose items. Sometimes they just left them in the containers. Occasionally if a bag tore, Ben would have to pick up stray items off the ground and re-bag them, because it was apparently too much trouble for A-O to do it themselves.

Ben gave the can an experimental shake, expecting to hear the rattle of cans, bottles, empty food wrappers, or whatever. Instead he heard a sliding thump in the bottom of the container, as if one bulky object was down there. By this time he had reached the garage door, so he opened the lid to look inside.

The smell that came out of the garbage can was beyond nauseating. Ben could feel as much as smell the stench up his nostrils and even in the back of his mouth. It triggered his gag reflex. He turned and took a few steps away, then took a few deep breaths .

God! How could he have missed such a foul odor? It was so overpowering that he nearly threw up, and it had assaulted his senses so violently that he hadn’t even gotten a decent look at its source. All he’d gotten was a quick impression of something shapeless and glistening, as though it was moist. Decomposing.

Ben went into the garage and came back out with a flashlight. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he took a closer look inside the garbage can. The light revealed the bloated, eviscereated carcass of what used to be an opossum. Ben was only sure of this because of the animal’s naked, rat-like tail, which appeared to have had the last few inches torn, or bitten off, and from the grinning deathskull face (still grinning, but lifeless now).

Who would put something like this in my trash can, and what the hell got hold of this thing in the first place?

Even a live possum couldn’t have gotten inside this bin, sitting upright with the big lid closed. Someone obviously put it there. But why? It didn’t look like road kill. It wasn’t flattened or crushed (the word popped came to mind). This thing had been attacked by something big enough and strong enough to not just kill it, but rip it open, gut it, and then throw it in the garbage. His garbage.

Why the trash can? To hide it? From whom?

It couldn’t stay where it was, so Ben got his shovel from the garage. He laid the garbage bin on its side and scraped the dead thing out onto the driveway, making sure to leave no stray body parts inside. Then, scooping the wrecked carcass up in the shovel, he carried it up to the street and deposited it on the shoulder of the road.

Let the town deal with this mess. If they find it there, a road crew will be along to clean it up soon enough. I’m not going to bury the damn thing.

In the fading light, Ben grabbed the garden hose. The hydrant was right next to the garage door, so in a few minutes he had hosed off the shovel, the inside of the trash can, and rinsed the blood and small chunks of viscera from the driveway.

As he started to shut off the water, Ben noticed again that his left hand was still sticky with deer blood, so he hosed off his hand, too. He thought it slightly odd that there seemed to be an unusual amount of blood and hair under his fingernails. Then he took off his bloodstained shirt and gave it a good soaking. He hung it on a nail in the garage, figuring he’d let it dry overnight before putting in the laundry in the morning.

As he finally went inside, Ben wondered, “what’s the deal with all these animals tonight?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Leviathan Wakes (Expanse, #1)

2014-05-01T11:09:00.000-04:00

I just finished reading Leviathan Wakes, which is Book 1 of The Expanse series, by James S.A. Corey. Finished it Monday (maybe Tuesday).

Corey's got me. I've already started book 2, entitled "Caliban's War."

Who's James S.A. Corey? He's just these guys, you know?

From Wikipedia:

"James S.A. Corey is the pen name used by collaborators Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck. Under that name they wrote Leviathan Wakes (2011), the first of three science fiction novels in a series called The Expanse. Leviathan Wakes was nominated for the 2012 Hugo Award for Best Novel and the 2012 Locus Award for Best Science Fiction Novel...."

My last post stated that "We Need Ripping Yarns." With Leviathan Wakes, my yarn has been well and truly ripped. Game of Thrones author George R. R. Martin refers to The Expanse series as a "kick-ass space opera," and I agree.

Leviathan Wakes is just a good, well told story. It will apply to fans of detective stories, as well as fans of science fiction. And I mean sci-fi fans running the gamut from Star Trek and Star Wars, any number of Alan Dean Foster works, the "Gap" series by Stephen R. Donaldson, and yes, the Firefly Browncoats too. There's even some ooginess to appeal to the Lovecraftians out there.

I have an aversion to posting spoilers, so here's a brief synopsis, which can be found on Goodreads.

"Humanity has colonized the solar system - Mars, the Moon, the Asteroid Belt and beyond - but the stars are still out of our reach.

Jim Holden is XO of an ice miner making runs from the rings of Saturn to the mining stations of the Belt. When he and his crew stumble upon a derelict ship..., they find themselves in possession of a secret they never wanted....

Detective Miller is looking for...one girl in a system of billions, but her parents have money and money talks....

Holden and Miller must thread the needle between the Earth government, the Outer Planet revolutionaries, and secretive corporations - and the odds are against them. But out in the Belt, the rules are different, and one small ship can change the fate of the universe." Leviathan Wakes - Goodreads

The story is set roughly 200 years in the future. Corey gives enough space tech to let you suspend disbelief, without drowning you in minutiae. It's the story that leads the way here. Leviathan Wakes divides POV from chapter to chapter between the two main characters, Holden and Miller, whether the two of them are millions of kilometers apart, or in the same room. It works. I felt very connected to each of the protagonists, who were often at odds with one another.

"Leviathan Wakes" is indeed a ripping yarn. As I mentioned, I've begun the second book in the series, "Caliban's War." A good, gripping start to this one, too. The series so far consists of the following:

Leviathan Wakes (Expanse, #1)
Caliban's War (Expanse, #2)
Abaddon's Gate (Expanse, #3)
The Butcher of Anderson Station (Expanse, #0.5)
Gods of Risk (Expanse, #2.5)
Cibola Burn (Expanse, #4)
The Churn: An Expanse Novella

I have a lot of reading ahead of me. Race you there!

Keep reading.

Alan Andrews

Basso for Hire.

We Need Ripping Yarns

2014-04-21T15:42:00.001-04:00

We need some ripping yarns, is what we need. Or, "why don't Johnny done be reading?"

Here's a very interesting article by Andrew Levy, of "mailonline." In it, author Jonathan Emmett expresses his opinions and findings on why boys may be turning away from books and more toward video games. I found this article via a post by Rachel Palmer on Google+.

Here, by the way, are a few of my recommendations for anyone, but I think the young male of the species would particularly enjoy any of these...

Still a ripping yarn, a hundred years later.

My all time favorite "boy and his dog" story.

A personal recommendation in new fiction.

Boys turning to action-packed video games because books are 'too girly' for them, says award-winning children's author

Boys are being put off reading because of the influence women have on children’s literature, says an award-winning children’s author.

Jonathan Emmett warned that children’s books were too girly because of the influence of mostly female panels of editors, publishers, reviewers and judges.

One publishing company’s research suggested women bought 95 per cent of picture books for children, he added.

The writer believes boys are being starved of what they enjoy in books, such as swashbuckling pirates, battles, or technical details about space ships and so are driven to more action-packed video games instead.

'It is a really difficult argument to make because 99 times out of 100 it is women that are under-represented,’ said Mr Emmett.

‘But there is a literacy gap - boys are underachieving, boys do not like books as much as girls.

‘I am arguing that this is because the industry is dominated by female gatekeepers.’ The author and illustrator, a former winner of the Red House Children’s Award for ‘Pigs Might Fly’, looked at 450 reviews in five national newspapers.

He found 41 per cent of children’s fiction books were by men but more than two-thirds of reviews were by women.

Men were responsible for 47 per cent of picture books but more than 80 per cent of reviews were by women.

Study: Mr Emmett conducted a study uncovering the large proportions of publishers, reviewers and award judges who are female

And he found for the past two years, every one of the 13 judges of the prestigious children’s book awards, the CILIP Carnegie and Kate Greenaway medals, has been women.

He also drew on personal experience, explaining how only two of the 50 editors he had dealt with were men.

One publishing company told him it carried out research which suggested women bought 95 per cent of picture books for children.

‘Mums and grans buy books - that’s what’s driving the market,’ he told The Times.

‘They read the book also and then there’s a tendency for the book to reflect their tastes as well. So there may be a pirate but that pirate will not be engaged in a battle.

‘The number of times I have tried to get technical information into a book and it is deemed inappropriate.

‘It is one of the things that leads boys and girls with boy-typical tastes, to say “I am not really interested in that kind of content, I am more interested in the content of video games”.’

A gap in reading ability is already apparent between boys and girls by the time they are five, according to a parliamentary commission report.

This translates into a year’s difference in reading skills as they go through school.

I agree with a lot of what this article is saying. It's not just at the grade school level. Look at the shelves labelled "Young Adult" in most book stores. It's heavily marketed toward a female readership. That in itself isn't a bad thing, and I'm not saying they can't be entertaining for boys. For instance, I've read both the Hunger Games and Divergent trilogies, and enjoyed them both, for the most part, particularly the Hunger Games. The Divergent series spent a little too much time with the main character wallowing in indecision (for my taste, anyway).

I did recently read "I Have a Bad Feeling About This," by Jeff Strand, which was hilarious, and definitely written by someone who understands teenage boys, particularly nerdy teenage boys. And "The Rule of 3," by Eric Walters, is also a book that I would highly recommend any boy read. Any girl, too, for that matter.

But I think the overall level of literature for young readers, although bountiful now, is very watered down. I was a voracious reader when I was a kid. By the time I was in middle school, I had read, The Swiss Family Robinson, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and most of Robinson Crusoe (still on my list). I'm not trying to brag, and I'm certainly not saying I understood all of what I read, but they were very exciting stories, and I learned a lot about the world, about making really cool stuff, and self-reliance.

Alan Andrews

Book Review: The Rule of 3, by Eric Walters

2014-02-17T09:12:00.001-05:00

From the back cover: "The Rule Of Three. A person can last 3 minutes without air, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food. A community begins to die in just seconds"

Fun, thought provoking read. I hadn't read any Eric Walters up to this point.

Told from the perspective of a high school boy (Adam), Eric Walters paints a fairly convincing scenario of the destruction of modern civilization on a very local scale.

The Rule of 3 is the first in a series. I'm looking forward to seeing what he does with the rest of the story.

The protagonist is, as I've said, a teenage boy. But don't assume from this that it wouldn't be interesting for female readers as well. If you enjoyed the Divergent series or The Hunger Games series, I think you'll get a kick out of this as well. The difference here being that Walters hasn't set his story in a future post-apocalyptic society. Instead, we get torn apart right now.

File under Young Adult, but in my opinion, enjoyable for those of us a little longer in the tooth.

Harvey Weinstein - Don't $h1t Where You Eat.

2014-01-20T10:47:00.002-05:00

A little more political than most of my posts.

Film Producer Harvey Weinstein said recently in an interview that he's going to make a film that will destroy the National Rifle Association.

So this is the man who wants to make a film attacking the NRA? He apparently has a problem with either gun ownership by private citizens, guns altogether, or maybe he's just trying to help keep people from killing themselves and each other.

I smell a hypocrite. The man's made probably millions glorifying violence, much of it with his actors using firearms.

Here's a brief list of some of the films Harvey Weinstein has either produced, co-produced.

Gangs of New York
Pulp Fiction
Kill Bill: Vol. 3
The Crow
Django Unchained
Inglourious Basterds
Killshot
Rambo
Death Proof
Grindhouse
Sin City
Kill Bill: Vol. 2
Kill Bill: Vol. 1
Reindeer Games
The Crow: City of Angels
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
The Lord of The Rings (Trilogy)

I'm not saying these films aren't any good. Some of them are excellent, and are among my favorites. And there are many other well done works with which he's been involved. And if he wants to use his gifts to further his own political goals, there's nothing illegal about it.

I'm just saying that, based on his body of work, much of his personal success is based on the use of guns. As I said previously, I smell a hypocrite. As the saying goes, "don't s...t where you eat."

Here's his IMDB page: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005544/

Here's the article discussing Mr. Weinstein's self-imposed mission. Major Hollywood Producer Vows to Make the NRA Wish They Weren't Born

For the record, I am not a member of the National Rifle Association. I will predict, however, that Mr. Weinstein's efforts to destroy this organization will not be as successful as most of his other endeavors.

Alan Andrews

The N Word

2014-01-13T16:30:00.000-05:00

WARNING: This blog post contains language which should be offensive to anyone able to read it.

What would he have thought? As we approach the holiday named after him, what would Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. have thought if he'd heard what I'd heard?

I was in a McDonald's last week and heard something that distressed me to my core.

An African American man appearing to be in his late twenties sat fairly close to where I was sitting. He was engaged in an animated phone conversation, apparently with someone he knew well, and was speaking loudly enough that it was easier to hear his conversation than to hear the music piped in through the ceiling speakers.

The conversation involved studio recordings, financial backers, and performers, so the young man must have been connected in some way with the music industry. That got my attention, since anything involving the performing arts interests me.

Nothing distressing about this at all. In fact, I was impressed to hear anyone, let alone someone in their twenties, speaking with authority about the running of his own entrepreneurship. He certainly sounded like he had a better grasp of his own career than I had at his age.

It was his language that distressed me. I have never heard one person say the word "nigger" so frequently in such a short span of time. He sometimes said it 3 or 4 times in one sentence. For instance, one time I heard him say, "Nigger, I told that nigger that nigger be coming to get you, nigger." I am not making this up.

Really? Why? Why is this a thing? What makes it okay? Let me answer that for you. NOTHING makes it okay! I'm not even referring to the double standard regarding "the N word," in as much as if I were to be speaking in public that way, I would probably at the least have been asked to leave, and I would not be surprised to be threatened with violence.

This fellow's conversation was so super-saturated with the word "nigger" that it overshadowed everything else he was saying. The person on the other end of his conversation may have mentioned it to him. I say this because at one point, he said, referring to a mutual friend, "Nigger told me I owe him $5.00 every time I use the N word or the C word."

The first thing I thought on hearing this was, "well at least he knows two people who take issue with his language." Then for the next 2 minutes, I kept a mental count going. By my calcuations, he racked up a $185.00 debt in two minutes.

I don't get it. Is there anyone in the United States of America who does NOT know that the word "nigger" is considered offensive? It's almost impossible to come up with an equivalent analogy. Do Jews refer to themselves as "kikes?" Do Middle Easterners refer to themselves as "camel jockeys?" Do Native Americans refer to themselves as or "injuns?" Do Asians refer to themselves as "slants?"

Of course not. To do so would be reprehensible.

So I want to tell everyone reading this who uses the word "nigger" to STOP IT. It's hateful. It's stupid. It's demeaning to others and to yourself. It insults the memory of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It insults everyone who fought to strike down those stupid "Jim Crow" laws, and to gain equal rights under the US Constitution.

Please don't tell me that I, as a Caucasian American male, have no business telling anyone else not to call someone a "nigger." Don't say that I don't understand the black plight, or whatever it is. This is common sense.

I am trying to present this as constructively as possible. I bear no one malice here. I am only trying to point out the idiocy of this awful habit.

An Old Dog Can Teach You a Few New Tricks

2013-12-30T15:30:00.000-05:00

We have two dogs. Jenny and Billy.

Jenny

Jenny is a Walker Coonhound. She is about 8-1/2 years old, and has lived with us since she was 1. Her likes include barking and howling at absolutely ANYTHING, marathon naps, having her hipbones scratched, and chasing our cats around the house. Her dislikes are loud noises (ironic, I know, considering the howling), vacuum cleaners, and wet feet. She's never really cared for playing with toys.

Billy

Billy is part dachshund, part fox terrier (or maybe Jack Russell), with maybe a little Basset Hound thrown in for good measure. If you asked most grade schoolers to draw a picture of a dog, you'd probably get something that looks an awful lot like Billy. He has lived with us for a little over half a year, and is probably 4 or 5 years old. Billy's likes include snuggling, barking at meal times, patrolling "his" backyard like a cop on a beat, and playing with toys. His dislikes include not being the center of attention, and being made to move from wherever he's napping.

As I mentioned, Billy loves playing with his toys. When he's done playing with them, he leaves them in the corner of the living room, under our baby grand piano, which makes it a hassle when trying to tidy up.

Saturday, Billy was lying on the love seat in our living room with my lovely wife, Lenna. Billy was doing some serious snuggling, and loving every moment of it. Jenny decided she wanted to curl up on the love seat, too. Unfortunately, the love seat just wasn't big enough for all three of them up there, and Billy wasn't willing to scooch over to make room.

Jenny and Billy stared at each other for a minute or so, and then Jenny appeared to give up, turning away. "Appeared" is the key word here. What she actually did was go under the piano, grab one of Billy's favorite toys (a bit of heavily chewed rope), bring it into the middle of the room, and start chewing on it.

Billy took the bait, and jumped off the couch to lay claim to his treasured rope toy. He pounced on it and took it from Jenny's mouth (he's literally half her size). As he took it from her, Jenny looped around him and jumped up onto the love seat next to my wife, curled up and was firmly entrenched before Billy ever realized he'd been set up.

New tricks learned: Old dog - 1

New lessons learned: New dog - 1

Book Review: Tarbabies - By Allen R. Brady

2013-11-08T14:00:00.000-05:00

Originally posted on
http://www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com/2013/11/tarbabies-by-allen-r-brady.html

I just recently finished reading Tarbabies, by Allen R. Brady. It's an apocalypse told on a local scale. When the protagonist first hears about them in Manhattan, they're considered more of a nuisance than an actual threat. But soon after that, they continue to spread outward from the city. Finally, there's nowhere to go.

What are tarbabies? Well, we're not entirely sure. It's not like they're fast, vicious monsters like werewolves or vampires, and they're not really zombies, either. Just don't let them touch you. In fact, they've been called different things by different people. But "tarbabies," named after Brer Fox's scheme to catch Brer Rabbit in the Uncle Reemus tale, seems to be the name that "sticks."

Here's an excerpt...

"That thing on the porch won't go away. I called the police, but I don't think they're coming. They've got their hands full with the Manhattan quarantine, so they can't waste their time on a nothing little town like Otterkill. That means it's up to me and the neighbors, and there are fewer of us every day. Fewer of us, and more of them. Every person we lose is one more monster to deal with. The Spiller family, the folks from the Retirement Center, even the Mathises' Rottweiler are now stalking the streets, waiting for someone to get too close. A single touch is all it takes. I don't know which of my neighbors became the thing on the porch, and I suppose it doesn't matter. I've got to get out of here, but the Tarbabies are already showing up in Albany, and Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh. There's nowhere left to run, and there's no point in hiding. Not when the shadows themselves are after you."

The menace of the tarbabies builds throughout the book, as the creatures start appearing everywhere. There is a particularly harrowing scene on the Appalachian Trail, when the main character and his wife are pursued by a "thing that was a duck." If that sounds funny, it's because it is. But Brady still makes it frightening.

Allen Brady is a local writer here in the Hudson Valley, and I've performed in a couple of shows that he's written or co-written. Tarbabies is published by Spore Press. I look forward to more novels from Allen in the future.

Hopefully in December, I'll be able to give you a little blog about my NaNoWriMo efforts this month. Until then, keep reading!!!

Alan Andrews

Bassoforhire

Tom Clancy - In Memorium

2013-10-04T14:04:00.000-04:00

Tom Clancy - in Memorium

We lost one of my favorite authors this week. Tom Clancy passed away at the age of 66. With the publication of The Hunt for Red October in 1984, Clancy, according to some, practically invented the modern day military-espionage-thriller genre.

Clancy had 17 of his 28 books on the New York Times best-sellers list, with many of them reaching the #1 spot. His works are not for everybody, as his generally conservative politics may turn many readers away from a great story. But with 17 NYT best-sellers, he apparently didn’t turn away too many.

What I enjoy most about Clancy’s novels are the attention to detail found in them, particularly when he was writing about technological processes or gadgets. Legend has it, in fact, that this attention to detail gained the attention of the Federal Government, who wanted to know how he knew so much about military hardware.

Clancy’s stories typically take two or three (or more) separate threads and then weave them together. In The Sum of All Fears, for instance, he takes such unrelated elements as an undetonated bomb in the middle east and the construction of a Japanese temple, and uses both to bring the world to the brink of nuclear war.

For my part, it’s his story telling, more than his characters that really pulled me in. That’s not to say that he didn’t write strong characters. While Jack Ryan is the principal figure of most of his novels, Clancy breathed life to dozens of rich characters, both heroes and villains, many of whom appear in several of his novels. I have my personal favorites. Mr. Clark, for instance, is a CIA field officer who, like a fine wine, just gets better with age. His partner, Domingo Chavez, started out as a sergeant in a Light Infantry division, then went back to school and earned a master’s in International Relations, which he describes to Clark as, “two nations trying to #*%+ each other.”

My favorite Clancy character, and in fact one of my favorite characters in fiction, appears in only one novel. He is Colonel Mikhail Semyonovich Filitov, the title character in The Cardinal of the Kremlin. In one scene, Filitov, a former Soviet tank commander during the “Great Patriotic War,” and 3 time Hero of the Soviet Union (analogous to a 3-time Medal of Honor winner) has been captured by the KGB as a suspected spy. The old colonel is interrogated for days, and at one point is asked why he hates the Motherland.

“I do not,” Filitov replied. “I have killed for the Motherland. I have bled for the Motherland. I have burned for the Motherland. But I did not do these things for the likes of you.”

The Cardinal of the Kremlin

Tom Clancy’s novels took us through the latter part of the Cold War, and on into the War on Terror. He died at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore (where Jack Ryan’s wife, Kathy was a surgeon) following a brief illness. According to the Daily News, “his surprising death comes two months before the scheduled publication of his next novel, ‘Command Authority’ –likely the latest in Clancy’s run of blockbuster books.”

Rest in Peace, Tom Clancy.

Alan Andrews

http://www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com/2013/10/tom-clancy-in-memorium.html

2030 by Albert Brooks - Book Review

2013-08-09T15:33:00.002-04:00

Comedian/Actor/Writer (and who knows what else) Albert Brooks has been making people laugh for years. Now, with his new novel, 2030, he's making us think.

Twenty Thirty, The real story of what happens to America, shows us a very convincing picture of what can and may happen in the U.S. as the baby boomers (myself included) continue to get older and older. Thanks to advances in medical research, including finally a cure for cancer, Americans are increasingly looking at their eighties and nineties in their rearview mirrors.

Surely curing cancer is a wonderful achievement, right? After all, is there anyone reading this blog that doesn't know at least one person who has battled cancer?

So, Americans are living longer, but they still need medical care, right? And they still are entitled to benefits like social security, etc., right? There's just one big problem. The US is trillions of dollars in debt, and younger citizens are now struggling under the financial burden of caring for the "olds." Some individuals are even gathering supporters, in an effort to bring about change.

At a time when the US economy is already at the breaking point, "the big one" finally happens. A major earthquake levels Los Angeles, leaving literally millions of people homeless and penniless. Insurance companies go bankrupt, and relocation centers are hastily erected all along the west coast.

The president of the United States is faced with the harsh reality that America simply cannot afford to rebuild Los Angeles. Projected costs run in excess of 20 trillion dollars, and we don't have it. The only alternative is to go to their principle lender, China, and ask to borrow more money.

China values the United States as a business partner because America is the biggest consumer of Chinese goods. But can they afford to extend even a portion of such a vast amount to the US? Do they even want to? Or is there another alternative?

Brooks's prose is very to the point, and non-judgemental. He doesn't go to any great lengths to point fingers at any one particular ideology or political agenda. He builds this scenario of the too-near future very logically. He uses a wide range of characters, and all of them are treated with empathy. I highly recommend 2030 to anyone interested in a very thought-provoking look at where we are now, and where we may go.

Alan Andrews

WWZ - Movie Review

2013-07-05T15:51:00.000-04:00

Went to see WWZ yesterday. I've got to say, I really liked it. It was better than I thought it would be, considering all the negative comments I've seen and read leading up to the release.

I read the book a couple of years ago and highly recommend it to any zombiphiles. One thing that many people have complained about is that the movie isn't true to the book. I'll agree with that. It's very different, told from a different perspective. Max Brooks's book is written as "an oral history of the zombie war." It is told in a series of interviews after the "zombie war" is over, and civilization has adapted to life among the undead. The "interviews" provide insight into where the virus originated, how it spread, and our early disastrous attempts at defending ourselves. The movie follows the efforts on Gerry Lane (Brad Pitt), a former UN Undersecretary called back to service. Lane's mission is to accompany an expert in infectious diseases to South Korea, in an effort to discover both a cause and solution to the crisis. Mayhem ensues. Lots more stuff happens. Lane has to improvise.

One of the most intense scenes in the book is the "battle of Yonkers," which is where it became apparent that destroying the brain was really the only way to stop "Zeke." The battle of Yonkers doesn't appear in the movie.

But there are plenty of intense moments: the rush hour traffic jam in Philadelphia, Lane and his family's escape, the refueling stop in Korea, swarms in Jerusalem, mid-air massacres, and the World Health Organization labs, had me on the edge of my seat.

It's different enough that if you haven't read the book yet, but were planning to, I'd say go ahead and see the movie. It's not going to ruin the book for you. Nor will the book ruin the movie, as long as you don't go in expecting the everything to see the same.

World War Z is rated PG-13. If you're thinking about taking your kids, or letting them see it, use your own discretion. It's very intense, as I said. But there's not nearly the gore (or language) that you're going to encounter in any given episode of "The Walking Dead." Also, there are no naked naughty bits.

After seeing the movie, I'm going to have to read the book again. Just for grins.

Alan

Pull This Thing Out of Me, or "Gigging for Grandaddy"

2013-07-01T13:47:00.001-04:00

If there was any punishment meted out from this incident, I never heard it. Maybe my dad told me, but I must have been laughing too hard to hear it.

I’ve been a fan of the Tarzan of the Apes books by Edgar Rice Burroughs since my dad got me hooked on them when I was in 3^rd or 4^th grade.

Dad was pretty into Tarzan, aka John Clayton, Lord Greystoke when he was a kid, too. Once when he was maybe 12, he was stalking through the jungle with his spear, hunting for prey. Now, when I say “stalking through the jungle,” I mean he was in his backyard somewhere in north central Texas.

And when I say “spear,” I mean he had a flounder gig.

“What’s a flounder gig,” you may ask?

It’s a long pole with anywhere from one to four metal points on it, and is used for “gigging” flounders. Flounders are of course, the salt water flatfish that commonly hide under a layer of sand, waiting for whatever comes their way that might be a tasty snack. Here’s a picture of a basic flounder gig, almost exactly like my dad’s “spear,” except his had only one point.

Flounder gig

So, that’s what he had, and that’s what he was doing. As my dad tells the story, he sensed the presence of another jungle predator behind him (probably a lion). Suddenly he, the hunter, had become the hunted! Whirling quickly, he drew back his spear arm and launched his missile at the beast. His aim was true (this is Tarzan we’re talking about after all, remember?) and his spear found its mark.

Unfortunately, the role of the lion happened to be played by my grandfather, who had come outside to sit in his lawn chair. The iron point of the flounder gig stuck him in the calf of one leg with enough force that the tip poked out the other side.

Can you even imagine the horror my dad must have felt when he realized what he’d done?

What happened next? Were there shrieks of agony? Well, no. Not so much.

Grandaddy looked at the spear hanging out of his leg, and then at my dad, the youngest of his 4 children, and said, “My God, Son! Come over here and pull this thing out of me.” I believe he then called out to my grandmother, “Mable! Come on out here!”

So my dad did indeed safely retrieve his spear from his wounded prey. And when my grandmother saw what had happened, she handled it with the practical decisiveness for which she was known.

Call an ambulance? Drive Grandaddy to the hospital? Oh, settle down and don't get all wound up.
Her remedy? Just pour some kerosene into both sides of the wound, bandage it, and get on back to her chores. I mean, after all, it wasn’t like anybody was seriously hurt or anything. Right?

I wonder which hurt worse, the actual spearwound itself, the act of dragging out of the wound, or the kerosene?

The First Law: The Blade Itself - Book Review

2013-05-10T14:18:00.000-04:00

To see the original post, and many other wonderful reviews and discussions of books, films, and television, please click through to www.booksellerswithoutbordersny.com. Or feel free to read on...

Joe Abercrombie's first novel, "The Blade Itself," is the first in his "The First Law" trilogy. US publication was in 2007. I don't know why I just recently found this series, but I'm glad I did. It's given me a well needed dose of Epic Fantasy while wondering if "A Song of Ice and Fire" will ever be finished.

For a first novel, let alone a trilogy, Abercrombie really delivered. His characters are diverse and complex. From Jezel dan Luther, a haughty young noble who gradually learns more of the value of others, and himself, to Bayaz, the self-proclaimed "first of the Magi;" who is either a complete charlatan, or a centuries-old wizard.

Then there is Logen Ninefingers, a Northman, also known as "the bloody nine." Here is truly a berserker with a conscience. A warrior who has lost everything, but has more to offer than he seems.

One of his most intriguing characters, however, is Sand dan Glotka, a Superior for the Inquisition. In other words, he is one of the chief torturers in the kingdom. Glotka is an expert torturer partly because he has spent time on both sides of the torture chamber. His wrecked body reminds him constantly of the man he was, and the man he has become.

Abercrombie's narrative flows whether he is portraying the political maneuverings of the Closed Council, a game of cards, a lovers' quarrel, or the mayhem of battle. This is epic fantasy/swords and sorcerers fare.

The First Law trilogy consists of "The Blade Itself," "Before They are Hanged," and "The Last Argument of Kings." In my next entry, I will discuss both the second and third books.

Highly recommended for any "Game of Thrones" or "The Lord of the Rings" fans.

Alan Andrews
Basso for Hire

West, Westboro, Wait A Minute!!

2013-04-29T09:46:00.001-04:00

Cruising through the internet this morning (where everything is true, and nobody fabricates anything, ever), I found the following facebook post, which had been shared by an online friend of mine.

"By XXXX XXXXX

So Westboro showed up here in Texas at the memorial service in West for the first responders who lost their lives in the explosion. The chief of police promptly had all 20 or so of them arrested and put into holding cells (all the men in one and all the women in another) When they told him he couldn't do that, he let them know he could. Since he hadn't officially charged them, he could hold them for 24 hours before he had to charge them or let them go! (plenty of time to hold the memorial service). I guess Westboro didn't think it through too well... This is Texas. As quickly as we fry people down here, did they really think they would be allowed to show that kind of disrespect?? Their photos were also released to the other small towns surrounding West, where services would be denied to them. Sometimes you just have to admire the way we do things down here in Texas!

Thanks, XXXX XXXXXX"

"Westboro" refers to Westboro Baptist Church, which has gained noteriety recently through a number of inflammatory statements, and controversial protests at veterans' funerals and other events. "West" refers, of course, to the town of West, Texas, where there was a fertilizer plant explosion, resulting in the loss of many lives. Although I don't know anyone personally from West, I always think of that little town fondly. When I studied at Baylor University, any time I was driving back up home and went through West early enough, I would stop at this little Czech bakery and pick up some pastries.

Doing a little more research (very little, really - it IS Monday morning), I found that there is disagreement over whether the detainment of any WBC members/protestors actually occurred. I don't have any verification one way or the other at this time. Snopes.com says it's probably not true, and here's their link. http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/wbctexas.asp

That being said, I would like to make something clear regarding this issue. I am a believer in Christ. Although I belong to a non-denominational evangelical church now, doctrinally I am a Baptist. As such, I am continually sickened and appalled by some of the things I have heard attributed to the leadership of Westboro Baptist Church. If half of the things that people say this church did or said are actually true, then their leadership is clearly not exhibiting Christian principles. They are not "the salt of the earth" (Matthew 5:13), nor are they following Christ's teaching, "In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven" (Matthew 5:16). They are instead destroying themselves as witnesses to the doctrine of salvation by grace through faith, and the sanctification and discipleship of believers. Additionally, they are leading astray many in their fellowship. In this way they are fullfilling Scripture, although not in the good way. Here are a few places where they are mentioned:

Jesus said, "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits" (Matthew 7:15,16).

The Apostle Paul met with the elders of the church in Ephesus before leaving that city and said, "For I know this, that after my departure savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock. Also from among yourselves men will rise up, speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples after themselves. Therefore watch, and remember that for three years I did not cease to warn everyone night and day with tears" (Acts 20:29-31).

Paul also expressed similar concern in one of his letters to the church in Corinth. "But I fear, lest somehow, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, so your minds may be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ" (2 Corinthians. 11:3).

Again, speaking to the Galatians this time, Paul writes. "I marvel that you are turning away so soon from Him who called you in the grace of Christ, to a different gospel, which is not another; but there are some who trouble you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ" (Galatians. 1:6,7). And, "O foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you that you should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ was clearly portrayed among you as crucified?" (Gal. 3:1).

The Apostle Peter also warns about false teachers. In 2nd Peter, 2:1,2, he writes that "there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Lord who bought them, and bring on themselves swift destruction. And many will follow their destructive ways, because of whom the way of truth will be blasphemed." In 3:17,18, he concludes by saying, "You therefore, beloved, since you know this beforehand, beware lest you also fall from your own steadfastness, being led away with the error of the wicked; but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory both now and forever. Amen."

So as someone who falls pretty firmly into the "right-wing evangelical" or "fundamentalist Christian" camp, that you here about on the news all the time, let me make it very clear that these people who are going about trying to disrupt funerals (of anyone), are NOT representing the teachings of Christ, nor are they bearing the fruits of the Holy Spirit. They have instead fallen victim to false teachings, or have themselves deliberately set out to deceive others, for their own personal benefit. If that's the case, it will not benefit them in the end.

Alan Andrews
Basso for Hire

What's Holding You Back?

2013-03-27T11:02:00.000-04:00

Are your weaknesses keeping you from achieving the things you want and need in life? Look again. Maybe those "weaknesses" are actually the very strengths that will enable you to excel.

Rrrriiiiiggghhhhht

Do you ever find yourself thinking, "I could accomplish so much, if only I weren't so (fill in your perceived shortcoming)? Take a moment and read this great article by Dave Kerpen that I found on LinkedIn this morning.

One of the things I do when trying to commit something to memory is to write it down, even if it's already printed before me. So I did that with this article. I've also pasted the link at the bottom of this post, so you can pick up the links to some of the sources he cites.

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How to Turn Your Weaknesses Into Strengths

- by Dave Kerpen

We all have weaknesses, and we tend to try to work on eliminating them – changing ourselves in order to become better. But change is difficult – very difficult. What if instead of trying to eliminate our weaknesses, we embraced them for what they were?

Several months ago, my friend Ben Rosner, CEO of e-home and a fellow member of Entrepreneur’s Organization, led an activity on weaknesses and strengths with my EO Forum group, based on the excellent Freak Factor manifesto by David Rendall. I found the activity to be so insightful and inspiring, I did the activity with my team at Likeable Local – and then with our team at Likeable Media. I thought I’d share it with you here as well.

Think about your biggest weaknesses at work and in life. What qualities are you most unhappy about? Of the following list of 16 typical weaknesses, look carefully and choose the three that resonate most with you:

1. Disorganized

2. Inflexible

3. Stubborn

4. Inconsistent

5. Obnoxious

6. Emotionless

7. Shy

8. Irresponsible

9. Boring

10. Unrealistic

11. Negative

12. Intimidating

13. Weak

14. Arrogant

15. Indecisive

16. Impatient

Got your three biggest weaknesses? Great (don’t be too depressed, the rest of this activity is more fun). Next, look at the below list, find the same three weaknesses, and look at the traits to the right of each of your three biggest weaknesses:

1. Disorganized – Creative

2. Inflexible – Organized

3. Stubborn – Dedicated

4. Inconsistent – Flexible

5. Obnoxious – Enthusiastic

6. Emotionless – Calm

7. Shy – Reflective

8. Irresponsible – Adventurous

9. Boring – Responsible

10. Unrealistic – Positive

11. Negative – Realistic

12. Intimidating – Assertive

13. Weak – Humble

14. Arrogant – Self-Confident

15. Indecisive – Patient

16. Impatient – Passionate

The three qualities to the right of your three weaknesses are all strengths.

Hidden in your weaknesses are your strengths.

Every weakness has a corresponding strength.

The idea here is simple: Instead of trying to change your weaknesses, accept them. Don’t try to fix them – it’s too difficult. Instead, be sure to leverage your associated strengths. You can look to colleagues, direct reports, and even supervisors to fill in the gaps where you are weakest. Don’t be afraid to ask people for help – they can add value where you are weaker. But be sure to embrace your strengths, and build upon them. After all, your strengths (even those disguised as weaknesses) will get you far in your career, and in life.

Now it’s your turn. Did this activity resonate with you? Were the strengths corresponding with your weaknesses accurate? What are your greatest weaknesses – and strengths? What are the takeaways for you at work and in life? Let me know your thoughts in the Comments section below! And here’s to your secret strengths!

Dave Kerpen is disorganized, unrealistic and impatient – which means he’s creative, positive and passionate! For more information about this activity, be sure to check out the excellent book Freak Factor by David Rendall. For more on Dave Kerpen, check out the New York Times best seller Likeable Social Media and the Amazon #1 best seller Likeable Business. Or click the follow button below for more of Dave's posts on LinkedIn.

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As promised, here is the link to the original article.

http://www.linkedin.com/today/post/article/20130325120757-15077789-how-to-turn-your-weaknesses-into-strengths

Distilled Zombies - Problem Solved!

2013-03-15T11:06:00.001-04:00

If Lenna Darbin Andrews is correct, we have nothing to fear during the zombie apocalypse. At least, not from the zombies, anyway. Not as long as we have plenty of white distilled vinegar.

Alright, alright. Here's a little background.

This morning I was coming out of my sleep induced stupor. As I'm picking out my clothes for work, the television is on. Specifically, it's showing me a commercial for a book on simple home remedies and cleaning products that are more natural, environmentally safer, and less expensive than many chemical products you'd buy at the store, or maybe they're just clever ideas. A lot of them I'd heard before, and I've tried a number of the suggestions.

Some of these common "wonder solution" things include pouring hot water mixed with a little dish soap on your frozen cement steps to keep them from refreezing. Baking soda is an abrasive cleaner that can be used on apparently anything from crayon marks on walls to human teeth. Cardboard toilet paper tubes can be used to eliminate "wire spaghetti" under your computer desk or entertainment center. Hairspray can knock most flies and mosquitoes out of the sky, and the little fellers will look fabulous afterward. White distilled vinegar...

...is amazing.

White distilled vinegar can be used to clean many surfaces, kill weeds and grass in unwanted areas, neutralize garden lime, and relieve sunburn pain.

But wait. There's more. What garlic is to vampires, white distilled vinegar is to practically EVERYTHING else. You can use it to keep cats out of your kid's sandbox (do kids still even have sandboxes?), kill moths and slugs, keep rabbits, ants, and any number of pests away from your house.

So my wife (the afore-mentioned Lenna) said, "if you put a pan of it on your front porch, it'll keep the zombies away."

Pest deterrent.

Hmmm.

Obviously she's onto something. So I asked, "do we need to put it out by every entrance?"

"Nope? Just one pan of it on the front porch. Of course, you could also use flypaper."

I said, "flypaper might slow them down, but eventually they'd pull free of it. Or whatever part of them was stuck would just break off, and they'd keep coming, although slower."

She thought about that and said, "you're right. Vinegar's got to be the way to go."

None of this has been field tested, of course. But still, if vinegar will keep a cat from taking a dump in a sandbox, it's worth a try.

That actually raises another question. Will vinegar keep zombie cats from pooping in your sandbox? I honestly don't know.

And what if you're away from home at the beginning of the zombie outbreak? I may start carrying a spritzer bottle full of vinegar with me. Or a bottle of vinegar and a bowl. Will any open container work? Or maybe a small pan. Because according to Lenna, "a pan" of vinegar "on your front porch" is what does it. So does that mean it has to be a pan? But what if the porch is an integral part of the solution? Am I supposed to carry lumber, vinegar, a pan, carpentry tools, and a mailbox with me everywhere I go? Just start building a front porch right there on the spot at the sound of the first moan? Does it have to support my full weight? Do I need a certificate of occupancy?

So much for traveling light! Maybe a machete is a better idea, after all. And the spritzer bottle.

Be careful out there.

Alan Andrews
Bassoforhire

Well, This is a surprise.

2013-02-12T09:49:00.002-05:00

Apparently I'm out there, somewhere.

I've just been informed that I have one of the top 5% most viewed @LinkedIn profiles for 2012. http://www.linkedin.com/pub/profile/15/33a/174

Okay, then.

AA/BFH

White Calico Water Cats #4: It's gone!

2013-02-12T09:44:00.001-05:00

White Calico Water Cats #3: Chloe gets an assist

2013-02-12T09:42:00.001-05:00

White Calico Water Cats #2

2013-02-01T10:47:00.000-05:00

The continuing adventures of Chloe and Eboli. First appearance of Eboli.

White Calico Water Cats #1

2013-01-29T12:13:00.000-05:00

The continuing adventures of Chloe and Eboli.

First in a series.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnZ6FPDrdxw

Best of 2012 - Homeless for 2013

2013-01-14T11:42:00.000-05:00

Performing Troupe looking for our forever home.

The following is a press release issued 1/14/13. Please feel free to share.

January 14, 2012 Contact: Paul Ellis

Phone: 845-469-7563

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Air Pirates Voted Best Performing Troupe of 2012

For the sixth time The Air Pirates Radio Theater was voted the Best Performing Troupe in the Hudson Valley by the Times Herald Record Readers’ Poll. The Air Pirates completed their sixth season at the Lycian Centre (now Sugar Loaf Performing Arts Center) and are now planning the seventh to open in March. As of now the highly popular live radio comedy troupe has no home.

“This is a real honor for us,” says Paul Ellis, writer and director of the company, “We perform for a truly appreciative audience and we just have fun. The audience has a great time with these comic plays and allowing them to participate makes for a great evening.” Audiences are returning on a regular basis for the next episodes of mystery, western and science fiction. “What these actors do is not easy. At anytime they are playing up to five roles a night. When all is said and done the actors fill the stage with exciting and funny performances,” said Ellis.

The new season of Air Pirates was planned to begin March 16^th at the SLPAC in Sugar Loaf, however; the Board of Directors has decided not to allow the Air Pirates to rent the space. “The company has been performing at the Pavilion since its beginning and now we have to find a new home,” said Paul Ellis, Producer of the Air Pirates. “There was a falling out with the Board of Directors over content in a previous show and it seems censorship is at the core of the discrepancy.” Not having a place to perform interferes with the company’s ability to secure sponsorships and advertisers and may cause some problems with funding. The Air Pirates have been funded by both the County Tourism Grant and decentralized funding from the NY State Council on the Arts. They also have a following of loyal supporters evidenced by the unprecedented sixth time they have been selected Best Of by the readers of the Times Herald Record.

The Pirates are not done, they intend to find a new home for their live broadcasts and will be back this season. Anyone who can help the Air Pirates Radio Theater find a home please call 845-469-7563 or visit www.airpirateradio.com.

Brian Nieves, Alan Andrews and Marylee Shorr in the Air Pirates production of It Aint Over til the Fat Lady Swings

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Alan Andrews
Basso For Hire

Hudson Valley's Best of 2012

2013-01-11T10:28:00.001-05:00

For six years in a row, The Air Pirates Radio Theater have been recognized as the Best Acting Troupe in the Hudson Valley. I am honored to have been a part of that streak for the last 4 seasons.

Hudson Valley's "Best Of 2012" - recordonline

Thanks to everyone who supported The Air Pirates. We have once again been voted the Best Theater Troupe of 2012 by the Times Herald Record readers poll. Congratulations to Paul Ellis and all rest of you (us). Six years in a row. To find out more about the Air Pirates, go to The Air Pirates Radio Theater.

As of this writing, the Air Pirates are looking for a new performing venue for their 2013 season. Keep posted to find out where we'll be performing next!

On another, personal note, I was once again voted Best Opera Singer in the recordonline. Many many thanks to all of you for voted for me, and for all of you who support local artists, wherever you are.

Alan Andrews
Basso for hire