THE DOG DAYS OF SUMMER

The Dog Days of Summer are here for sure, and I don't mean the days when the Dog Star follows the Sun across the sky in July and August as I'm sure you all know. We have had heat, plenty of it, and it has been bone dry, yet another cute phrase. About the only bones I know are bone dry are when you're dead. Still it fits the miserable weather and drought we've had, but I'm not talking about that either. No, I'm talking about the invasion of new dogs into little old Coltons Point and the bizzare impact it has had on the village.

Now that several rentals and a couple of sales have been completed and every dwelling in the Point seems to be occupied, by my reckoning we have had an increase of about 15 dogs this summer ranging from Pit Bulls to Great Danes, rag muffins to shepards. Imagine that, 15 new dogs in a couple of months when we average about 1-2 per year. You don't move 15 dogs into a little fishing village without some real pains since in many cases the dog owners were entirely clueless about life in this seaside paradise.

Now some of them came from the big city where certain things are expected like the immediate availability of police and dog catchers I guess and it was a rude awakening to them when they discovered our first responders might show up any time in the next few days. Short of someone in the final throes of death there are not many reasons for anyone to hurry to the Point when everywhere else has much worse problems. At least that's how it was until the new people showed up and turned the village upside down.

Here at the Point people are friends. If we have problems we settle it among ourselves. There is simply no need to bother outside authorities with the small problems of the Point. And then ex-GI Joe showed up. Now he expected an immediate response to everything from everyone. One day he gets a dog, a slightly aggressive dog no less, and the next day he has the dog catcher on speed dial with a continuous flow of reports of vicious dogs at the Point who attack dogs and people. In a matter of a couple of weeks he made more reports of vicious dogs in the Point than the Animal Control had received the previous 10 years. Now that is how you want to introduce yourself to your new neighbors.

Thanks to the very strange perception of ex-GI Joe dogs that have never been reported for aggressive behaviour suddenly became raging menaces and when he reported the Grand Dame of the Point, the property of all Pointers, our beloved Golden Retreiver Holly to the authorities, well that was the ultimate insult to Pointers with a conscious. I mean Holly, the orphan of the Point, who has survived and been cared for by people from one end of the Point to the other is about the friendliest dog in the world. She has kept our seniors company over the years, been the only security in the Point as she guards the community against intruders throughout the night, and escorts people on their walks. You might see her swimming in the river, hopelessly chasing a rabbit, or hiding behind a hedge at night. You will never see her hurting another dog or person. At over 12 years old and with sometimes severe arthritis, what the hell kind of threat could she be to anyone. Yet ex-GI Joe is fearful for his life because of her.

Of course that wasn't even the worst of it. Wild Willie's two and a half dogs suddenly became a vicious pack of killers on the hunt. Before the influx of new people about the worst said of the Wild Willie gang was that they barked too much. Now they were transformed into a deadly pride of lions on the prowl. All Animal Control had to do was take a look at that gang to know their bark was much worse than their bite. The streets of the Point were about to become killing fields if you were to believe the Animal Control and Police reports. Neighbors were taking sides. People were being intimidated and afraid to talk. Somehow the stupid dog issue was growing into a daytime soap opera.

When the dust finally settled, when the tickets were paid and the court appearances finished, when Animal Control finally got to take care of the rest of the county and the sheriff's office got back to chasing real threats to society, the Point was no longer the same. Dogs whose greatest pleasure was in giving pleasure through companionship to people, often lonely people, were no longer free to make their rounds. Dogs who took a personal responsibility for the safety and security of neighbors by checking on them and their houses every night were no longer free to provide such help. Dogs who enjoyed the freedom of wandering the Point and entertaining the adults and children, along with the visitors, could entertain no more.

The neighborhood dogs who were out at night and could prevent skunks, foxes, racoons and deer from over-running the neighborhood, not to mention bringing rabies into the village, were no longer free to protect the neighborhood from the creatures of the woods and swamps. My how the march of civilization helps us mature. When you really think about it, the biggest flaw with animal laws was the wrong creatures were on the leash. Animals can work things out. It is the humans that screw up the world for everyone else.

Haughty Helen and Little Jon's Coming Out Party

Haughty Helen gave the social event of the sweltering summer season at Coltons Point when she hosted the Little Jon Coming Out Party at her seaside villa. Little Jon, as you may or may not recall, is quite smitten with Helen whose genealogy makes her a direct descendant of the English outcasts who first introduced the local natives some 400 years ago to the white man and the Catholic Church, either of which spelled certain doom to the Native Americans.

Over 850 people showed up for the party along with about 10 jazz bands and several concession trucks. While family pressure caused Haughty to supply some food, in as much as proper etiquette required something to be set out for the insects, the concession trucks handled most of the traffic.

Rumor has it the party was Haughty's biggest since her own debutante ball back in the days of the governor's mansion and certainly it was the wildest party at the Point since the destruction of the Blackistone Hotel by the Kopels, a hotel which they acquired from Helen's descendants.

While they tried to blame the destruction on a turn of the last century hurricane, a lot of revealing records of the strange activity taking place at Kopel's seaside resort vanished in the chaos. Ironically the old hotel was just down the beach from Helen's villa. Ink Spot and her hubby, who used to be known as President Bob but has since relinquished his presidency to Sheila and is now known as Captain Bob what with the marina, his charge over the Clements Island fleet, and having his own swimming pool, claim they are prepared to begin revealing the secrets of the old hotel sometime soon.

Back at the coming out party, about 800 of the 850 guests were unknown to most of the Pointers but when you have a family with nearly 400 years of local history you are bound to know a few people. Speaking of family, the Haughty Helen family was out in force to make certain their sister did the family tree proud. They even brought back John Michael from the family compound in northern Wisconsin where he is in charge of the survival outpost. The new family patriarch and golf champion Phil brought his entourage on the family yacht which was just too big to dock at Helen's pier so people had to be shuttled back and forth to shore. Brother Phil was surrounded by well wishers and patrons and he even had a couple of priests in tow in the unlikely event the food was not as good as expected.

Of all the people present, Little Jon seemed to be hardest to find as he could only be caught at a glimpse scurrying around fussing over food, drinks, dogs and his sister all the while trying to avoid being the center of attention. A great time was had by all, especially those found still on the premises the next morning passed out on chairs, docks and boats. Haughty Helen insisted they were not invited guests. Watch for her next social adventure sometime around the year 2017 and hope you are on the invite short list again.

Why I Stopped Writing Articles

Top ten reasons I stopped writing articles for a time...

10. Everything in Coltons Point started to seem normal.
9. I heard a rumor the End Times was about to happen.
8. I couldn't decide if Bush or the Democrats were responsible for the mess.
7. I was waiting for the stock market to top off.
6. I was trying to decide who makes all the oil profits.
5. I couldn't figure out why I'm paying for garbage pick up I don't get.
4. I was waiting for it to rain.
3. I was waiting for Bailey's million dollar lighthouse to topple again.
2. I was trying to sail to Clements Island and back with Stevie Van Zany.
1. I was waiting for Haughty Helen to have her coming out party for Little Jon.

Here's what you missed in local, state, national, world and universal affairs. I guess nothing. We have a weak economy so the stock market goes up. People stop driving and the gas prices go up. Now food and just about everything are coming from China. (How does one make food in China?) Prescription drugs are failing every day. Osama Bin Laden seems to be doing well in caves.

Weather news - it sucks.

Sports news - NASCAR drivers are fist fighting. Football stars run dog fights. Baseball umpires bet on their own games. Steroids will break Hank Aaron's home run record. Lacrosse players won't be inviting hookers to parties. And the most expensive soccer player in history is now in the good old USA and still no one will watch the game. (What did the English know that we didn't?)

Coltons Point news, on the other hand, is alive and well so stay tuned for more features as the things that happen to the Pointers cannot be summarized.

The Black Hole of Calcutta

Sailing with Stevie Van Zany in the Black Hole

Anyone ever wonder where the black hole of Calcutta goes? I checked it out on a globe and I think it goes from India right to Coltons Point, straight through the core of the Earth, which would certainly help explain some of the strange events that take place here in Pointerville.

So just what do people throw into a black hole anyway? If the hole started here it would probably be crab skeletons, oyster shells, credit cards and a bunch of other stuff of absolutely no consequence yet certain to raise eyebrows when it shows up in India.

Here in Coltons Point at the bottom of the black hole of Calcutta we don't get anything too interesting either, as least not in the form of stuff. But I think we do get a mystical mystery from India far more significant than you might think.

Very strange things take place here in the Point as I've reported in earlier articles from the landing of aliens to the ghost of John Wilkes Booth, and I've experienced a few of them myself. Things you might expect in the Bermuda Triangle seem to happen here that defy traditional explanation.

Here is a recent example. For some time crazy Stevie Van Zany has been asking me to sail out to Clements Island with him. I was holding out for riding in his power boat but he insisted, since he "did" grow up on the shore and being a waterman was a natural thing.

Finally he wore me down and I agreed except when I arrived at his house for the launch I noticed it seemed perfectly still outside, not a good omen for a sailing adventure. I mentioned it to Van Zany but he insisted the wind always blew on the river, even if it was still on the shore. That sounded like a line from a real estate agent selling shore fronts but what the hell.

Well the sail boat was not at all what I expected for cruising the mighty Potamac. Hell, we would have been overmatched fighting the current from the garden hose so I was glad there was little wind. We pushed the little bathtub to the water and I got in and the little matchbox nearly flipped over backwards, thankfully hitting bottom before going too far. I asked Stevie how many people could sail in it and he said 3. Now the only way that could happen was if they were the cast of munchkins from the Wizard of Oz.

I make no claims to being a waterman, fisherman, or even a good swimmer but even I noticed a few odd things about this craft. First, there was a long broom handle sticking out of the rudder handle about 6 feet. Thus there were two ways to get knocked in the side of the head in this little death trap, by the sail or the rudder. There was a motor mount but the motor was missing. So were the oars and that was my first clue Stevie was kidding about all the sailing experience or suffering from early alzheimers. He acknowledged he would run and get them as he seemed to have forgot.

Meanwhile I was left in the back of the boat, the front was clearly out of the water, while the back rested firmly in the sand under the water. He returned, we shoved off, and started paddling for the end of the pier as he now revised his wind story and said it would pick up at the end of the pier. He said it would be a 8-10 minute sail to the island and we would check out the new lighthouse and return within the hour. It was nice out so I figured okay.

Something ruffled the sail when we hit the end of the pier and slowly we started making our journey toward the island about a mile away. Progress was quite slow so we fetched a couple of beers from the cooler and I noticed about a case of beer stashed away. "Planning to be gone long?" I asked. He said it was for an emergency.

About an hour later we actually made it to the island, though no where near the shore, when he started these intricate tacking actions to swing us somewhere out around the island. After an hour of sailing I noted to Stevie we were passing the same crab trap marker over and over again and the stationary trap seemed to be pulling ahead of us. Not only that, we never seemed to get to the far side of the huge cross on the island and now the wind was gone.

In the first sign of weakness from Captain Stevie he said we should slow down the beer consumption as we might need it for breakfast if things didn't shape up. Of course it was only mid-afternoon at the time and we were just 2 1/2 hours into our ten minute trip by then. In the distance I saw a Bailey boat dropping supplies at the lighthouse and then heading back toward shore and he would pass within about 300 yards of us. I asked Van Zany if he had something red to wave so we could get a tow but he said no way. The code of the sea required a captain to never admit failure, even if it meant going down with his boat. Slowly the Bailey boat disappeared in the distance.

We were trapped in a circular current and could not get to the island, nor back to shore. We would probably keep drifting in small circles until we died in the shadow of the cross, all because of some stupid code of the sea. He took the oars and an hour later we made it back to the crab marker which was ahead of us when we started. Swimming was starting to sound like our only hope except earlier that week a bunch of kids tried to swim to the island and wound up ten miles away on Crabb Island.

By the start of the 4th hour we almost made it to the shore side of the island, having spent nearly 2 hours stuck on one side of a 40 acre land mass. Miraculously we finally got a breeze when we cleared the island and started tacking back for the pier just 1 mile away. But even the forces of nature were not about to let us off that easy. The slight sustained wind dropped to an occasional whisper not quite enough to fill the sail so now we were in a race to see if the whimpy wind was stronger than the natural current, again we were victims of the tides.

Our tacking became tacky and we found ourselves headed with the tides toward the museum pier, not Van Zany's pier. As we helplessly drifted toward the wrong pier we noticed a gathering of fishermen on the pier pointing at us, as if they knew we were at the mercy of nature. I told Stevie we should just land there and drag the damn boat the half mile down the river shore to his pier but the captain was adamant that no one, mind you no one, should know we were not in complete control of that tiny ship.

"Let's just wave at them as we sail past," he said. I pointed out that the way the tides were going we might just crash into the middle of them but Van Zany said we would row if necessary to protect the integrity of the rivermen. I was about to shout to them to throw me a beer from their cooler but they were laughing so loud they might not have heard when suddenly a tiny breeze pushed us safely past the potentially devestating embarrassment of bouncing the sail boat off the museum pier in front of a crowd of entertained fishermen.

This time we were able to maintain our course and reached land 4 hours and 38 minutes into our ten minute sail to the island and ten minute return. Zany was so happy he jumped out before we hit shore promptly sending the front end flying up in the air and causing the back of the boat, where my butt was parked, to drop into the cold river this time.

Just another typical outing at Coltons Point but it was just the first of three attempts Van Zany, this fearless old salt, was to undertake in his futile effort to reach the island just beyond his pier. Stay tuned for more details.

Whose Space is MySpace?

For those of you who don't know this, and quite a few of you don't, I write songs, as in words and music, and I have a band in Nashville, called Nashville Bound. We have a band site on MySpace, the giant of all virtual cyber dumps for mindless minds, and there are a ton of them. Imagine this, there are over 190 million, yes I said million, web pages on MySpace making it the largest international community in cyber space.

When they iron out the wrinkles, when the corruption matures and can go unnoticed, when the latte sipping whiz kids have squeezed every last ounce of data from you and know all your personal habits, then MySpace might finally get their act together and put the record companies, radio stations and resident crooks out of business.

Anyway, I have a band site on MySpace and my band is listed under Swing, Western Swing and Country on MySpace charts. Now that is not particularly big news but what happened on MySpace to the music might be. For the past month Nashville Bound has been one of the top 3 bands in the world in Swing, and in the top 6 in Western Swing in terms of the number of plays of songs per day.

There are over 3 million bands on MySpace from every country in the world so that is a pretty good position to be in. Only one problem, MySpace is ignoring their own daily numbers and refuse to place the band where it belongs on the charts. Today the band finished #3 but MySpace music editors placed it #36. In the past month the Nashville Bound music has been ranked everywhere from #28 to #94 and even off the charts one day while never finishing worse than #5 in daily plays.

So I wrote an email to MySpace asking why the band is not ranked in the top 5 every day. I got no response. Three days later I wrote again, still no response. After five emails in 2 weeks I finally got a response but the answer had nothing to do with my questions and concerns. There are no humans working at MySpace. Ever since Murdock and his News Corp bought MySpace people seem to be vanishing. Now I've got 5 responses about 3 different subjects none remotely related to my questions.

Wacky Weather Report

Man I sure hope the weather reports on TV get bumped by more commercials so we don't have to experience the pain of holding out hope they may be right some day. I think the weather people have the same philosophy about weather as the Jehovahs Witnesses used to have about the End Times. They figured if you kept predicting the date of the end of the world eventually you would get it right.

The weather people must use a more scientific method for their forecast like darts, a crystal ball or some kind of metaphysical connection to higher powers. So the first two weeks of April are the 2nd coldest in DC history, the coldest in Baltimore history. It was so cold that the first two weeks of last January were warmer.

Where is global warming when you need it? My plants, shrubs and trees are so confused they may bloom next winter instead of summer. I heard a rumor that the National Weather Service no longer supplies forecasts and world weather to the TV and other media, they have to do it on their own. No wonder the weather world is turned upside down.

Of course the reason the National Weather Service reports are not given to the media is because there are weather anomalies taking place that indicate we are heading for a natural catastrophe of Biblical proportions. The feds have it all wrong. If you want to spread misinformation quickly then you should give it to the media, they are masters at misinformation.

Oprah the Queen of the Money Machine

The darling of the media has once again proven why she is the richest woman on the airways as her recent show on the Virginia Tech nightmare was a nightmare itself. It seems nearly every interview was cut short because of the need of the program to cram advertisements into every nook and cranny of the one hour program. During the time I watched the show there was a commercial break nearly every two minutes with the advertising time far in excess of the program content.

Somehow it just doesn't seem right that shows like this, the national TV networks and the companies desperate to reach the maximum number of viewers with their call to buy something you probably don't need, can take advantage of situations. Yet they can all count on a mindless pubic to have their globes glued to the bloob tube not having a clue that the message being fed them is not news but sheer, crass, commercialization.

I say watch PBS, at least your mind will not be filled with the latest offering from the drug companies and others. Did you notice the increase in ads for "depression" drugs?

The Glorification of Seung Chow Mein

I've had it with the media bending over backwards to cover the killer when the victims deserve the attention in the Virginia Tech incident. What is wrong with these people? If I see that psycho pointing a gun at me again on TV I might just shoot the TV.

I know the media are hungry for continuous repetitious coverage of the campus tragedy. If you pay close attention you will note that many more advertisements are running right now as the capitalists attempt to reach bigger audiences with their TV commercials. Mass murders sell in our sick society and the more coverage by the networks of the tragedy the more advertising dollars in the network bank account.

Is it possible they don't understand that by glorifying the killer with extensive coverage they only give a roadmap for every other psycho walking the nation on how to get maximum media exposure and fame? They also have set a new goal for the next nutcase by playing up the fact this is the worst mass murder in our nation's history.

Seung Chow Mein sent a package to NBC TV between murder sites and NBC exploited that sick self-serving package of evil by starting an avalanche of pubicity just like the killer wanted when they released most of the contents.

We glorify the killers, forget the victims. We empower the potential killers and denegrade the families of victims. We get higher Nielsen ratings and spread fear across the nation. Now some greedy journalist will write a book about it, a greedy network will make a movie, and then we wait for the copycat killings to begin. Is this what we get for having a free press in America? Nothing free about those that capitalize on tragedy. It is all about big money.

Weekly Update

What a week! First my computer gets wiped out by a virus, clearly from a disgruntled reader. Then we have the Imus fiasco, the tragedy at Virginia Tech, the report that cell phones are destroying the bee population, and now the governor from my old home, New Jersey, gets critically injured in a car wreck.

Imus - the mouth that couldn't stop! Well this was not hard to call. Imus has been spouting his shock jock language since radio first began and other than an occasional wrist slapping nothing ever happened. Suddenly he takes on the Rutgers womens basketball team and all hell breaks loose.

If Imus is to be driven off the airways, and he was, then I think the sponsors of his BS and the networks behind his BS should be as well. He generated over $8 million a year for CBS radio and NBC TV. They encouraged him to be offensive, radical and sarcastic. Yet the minute the Jackson-Sharpton national censures opened their mouths freedom of speech, broadcaster and sponsor responsibility and every other consideration in a land of the free went out the window.

I think the networks should have their licenses to broadcast investigated by the FCC to see if there is documented evidence they encouraged his senseless rantings and the documents do exist. Then the sponsors should be investigated to see how they got off the hook on being responsible for also encouraging him.

At the same time the rap and hip hop music flooding the radio airways, the music the Jackson-Sharpton censures claim they have worked to stop, should be declared politically incorrect, a hate crime, pornographic, encouraging unlawful behavior and bigoted beyond belief and the music thrown off the air and the writers and artists publicly persecuted for doing a better job than Imus at undermining the Constitution of the United States, except the part of the Constitution about the right to bear arms which the rappers desperately need for meetings and public executions.

As for Jackson and Sharpton, tell them to slay the rappers like they slayed Imus or shut up! Now the Rutgers coach and team were the only classy, sensible people involved in this entire comedy. And by the way, tell Hillary and the other candidates to stop taking all the money from the rappers and hip hoppers if they want to demonstrate any integrity in the election.

Virginia Tech - a test of faith! This hit awful close to home with so many area residents involved as victims, the shooter and friends. Nothing much can be said the networks haven't said over and over again except the killer was clearly nuts and the schools should have a way to detect the potential danger in such people. Ever since we radically liberalized the mental health laws and released patients from institutions there has been a steady increase in mass murders and maybe we should go back and see if we didn't deinstitutionalize the wrong people.

The students proved they could function in spite of the short falls of the leaders with the delays, strange police actions, and lack of an APB for the shooter in the morning. The internet and technology proved to be valuable in this case and the kids are demonstrating a resilience the adults should not underestimate.

The Cell Phone Bee Killer Report! Yet another tidbit of data has leaked out that the explosion of cellphones may not be doing all that much good for humanity. I have a study from England several years ago that says too many cell towers will produce radiation harmful to the human brain. Since our experts ignored this study and every street corner now has a cell tower, I just figured we were too stupid or content to open our eyes. Now we find out the radiation from cell phones is destroying the honey bee population and a lot of us are probably happy, no more stings.

Fools. Honey bees don't sting, they are not agressive unless they are the African honey bee which wasn't supposed to be here in the first place. Certainly the European bees in this area aren't agressive. On the other hand, much of our fruit and vegetable crops depend on the honey bee to pollinate or whatever them so they can produce food to stuff in our faces. You may turn off your cell phones when the price of an orange hits $5.00 each or there isn't enough fruit and vegetables for all the diets we are obsessed with today.

NJ Governor Demonstrates Auto Safety! Okay, this is really odd. The Governor of the state with the highest rate of seat belt use in the nation (91% of all New Jersey drivers wear seat belts) almost gets killed in his Governor's limo doing 92 miles per hour, yes I said 92 miles per hour in a 65 MPH zone, and he is not wearing a seat belt. He is protected 24 hours a day by State Police and the driver of the limo was a State Polieman. The driver was wearing a seat belt, an assistant to the Governor in the back was not.

At 92 miles per hour don't you think the Policeman in front might have mentioned to the Governor to put on his seat belt. Why was the Governor's limo doing 92 in a 65 zone? His chief of staff says he should be fined $46 for not wearing the seat belt. What about the fine for excessive speeding? Is this a case of politicians believing they are above the law we normal six pack majority people are expected to follow? I wonder if the insurance was expired too?

In closing, with the strange and tragic things going on in our immediate world, maybe the End Times are here.

POINTERS POINT TO MORRIS POINT

Made it to the Morris Point Restaurant as promised Saturday night and we just beat the crowd that came roaring in after the Saturday night Bingo, or the Fire Barn Auction, or the cockeyed crab races or whatever drew them to the Point.

Now this place can give you lots of culture, conversation and cuisine. Halfway between the parking lot and the restaurant you get the first shot of culture when you pass that naked statue, well maybe there was a fig leaf or two.

When you get to the front door there is a temporary construction sign directing you around the back way. A clever idea saying the place is under construction as you are then made to walk around the building and across the dock and patio situated right on the river, or creek, or whatever gets this mass of water to the ocean

It is a rather spectacular view and might have been even better if it didn’t get so cold and windy that night. Summer nights would be great I’m sure. But it was nice and cozy inside, might have had something to do with Haughty Helen and her hot date, the mystery boyfriend in the cowboy boots, who were waiting inside. Now that the mystery of his identity has been revealed I’m pretty sure it was him in those boots.

Once inside Debbie, the field marshal of the restaurant battlefield, nodded in the direction of a big table with Haughty Helen and Little Jon Wayne and we made our way over. At this point I became torn, my interest ranging between the operation of the restaurant and the conversations between Haughty, Broadway Linda, Stevie Van Zany and Little Jon Wayne.

Quaint place that Morris Point Inn, with turn of some century woodwork, a menu of the same vintage, proprietors right out of central casting and a chummy bunch of patrons. You want privacy stay away. This is a place you go to for good company, a few laughs, and food better than momma can make if you’re honest and providing she’s a good cook which mine wasn’t but most Pointer mothers seem to be.

The food was certainly good enough to have been served from some New York or Paris bistro or upscale café though the ambience was grounded in the plastic cups, the silverware provided only as needed - not expected, and the paper table cloths which seem most appropriate for the Coltons Pointers. If you gave them a bib to eat with it simply would not be enough. Come to think of it, giving them a full set of silverware could upset their dinner with too many choices to eat with.

The dominate personalities at the restaurant are Debbie, her husband Chris and their son Rambo. Chris was focused on the cooking to the point I overheard him talking to the food. Clearly he was on his best behavior. Imagine Steven Wright crossed with Lenny Bruce and you have Chris. Stone silent one minute, full of passion the next. For those who don’t remember him, look up Lenny Bruce. Chris would be the culmination of a DNA merger of these two.

Debbie, well she is the Shirley MacClaine of the Point serving the regular patrons their drinks before they get a chance to order, engaging in small talk with each and every one, hovering over tables like a Bald Eagle waiting to pounce on the first sign of trouble. Debbie seems to live the life Shirley described in her book “Out on a Limb”, or was that “Out on a Broken Limb?”

Finally you have the son Rambo, well maybe the Rambo part if it was played by John Belushi. Now Rambo was on such good behavior all night he must have had his medication increased significantly since my last visit. Like his father, he was also invisible in the kitchen. A couple of other kids seemed to be shuffling stuff around and I have no clue whether they were family or patrons trying to help out.

The bottom line is this, don’t go to the Morris Point Restaurant just because it is the only place close to the point that serves food, go because it is five star food served at the Point. Everything is home made and these people clearly knew how to cook before they got the restaurant. You don’t even need a car to get there, just take your boat up the creek. Enjoy the people, absorb the quiet environment, savor the delicacies and then head home to your sorry existence.

Now, for a look at the family that runs Morris Point the first two pictures are Chris in a passionate mood and quiet mood, then Debbie being Debbie at the door to the Point, and finally their son Rambo.

Now Generation Anthem

Ain’t it great to be a kid in America
Ain’t it great we no longer have to read
We don’t have to think we can have another drink
Cause Microsoft is getting us the grades we need

It’s great to be a kid in America
Think of all we’ll accumulate
No one cares how much we steal, just bring home what is real
Keep it coming cause I just can’t wait, don’t be late

Ain’t it great to be a kid in America
If times are tough we’ll start another war
Our parents showed us how, we can go to war right now
No one cares if our deficit might soar and soar

But the kids growing up in America
Might be in for a big surprise
When the budgets must be slashed, when there ain’t no gas
When the waters everywhere are on the rise up to your eyes

When the kids growing up in America
Find social security is now broke
What’s a man to do when the money that you knew
Has disappeared and all gone up in smoke, you dope

Gas and the Global Warming

Am I the only one to find it odd that over 55 different dog food products for dozens of different companies were all made by the same processing plant at the same location. Everything from Iams to Wayne’s which I think is the Walmart brand name shared the same building, same people making it, and same meat or whatever that stuff is, same filler, and the same rat poison according to the feds.

Isn’t it about time the American consumer stop being the target of corporate scams like this making us think there was competition in dog food, a difference in the quality of the products, and that special handling could keep out the rat poison.

So a few thousand dogs and cats will die, Congress will hold hearings, the Democrats will blame Bush and big business, and the public will see nothing done about it. Ah the joys of watching capitalism at it’s finest.

So we’ve had a rash of outbreaks of mysterious diseases on cruise ships, in schools and hotels, and now in dogs and cats. We are now being told not to eat all the things we were told to eat before. More people die of malpractice in hospitals than from diseases and surgery.

Vaccines that once destroyed the threat of smallpox, polio, malaria and other diseases don’t work anymore against new strains of the same diseases that were supposed to be wiped out.

And good old Al Gore is running around Hollywood collecting Oscars and at our nation’s capitol trying to stage rock concerts all because of global warming. Well if man is responsible for global warming, then who the hell caused the global warming that ended the last Ice Age, or the ones before that?

Personally I think there is a direct correlation between the amount of beer, beans, onions, garlic and peppers consumed, the amount of high pressure gas they generate, the velocity of the gas emissions from people, and the impact on the atmosphere. Think about it, nearly 6 billion people passing gas at the same time. A few million cars and trucks don’t have a chance.

Add to that all the hot air generated in our nation’s capitol and every other capitol of the world and states where more than two politicians gather at once, and it is amazing we aren’t in the midst of a global meltdown. My only comment on the whole confusing mess is this, put a cork in it!

Bloob Tube Battles

I’ve had trouble watching the television lately. Can’t find the programs in all the commercials. Suppose it doesn’t matter since the TV fare was never meant to entertain, inform or educate, just to employ the many relatives of the network show business people.

The network evening news is in a whale of trouble now. Katie Couric has settled back into last place for CBS. It’s hard to take her too serious after all those years of sucking up to the people she interviewed on the Today Show.

The number crunchers for the networks have discovered an interesting fact. It seems that the quality of the local news just before the network news has a great impact on the network news viewers. Dah…

So old, ugly people put out to pasture on the evening news broadcasts are now costing Charles Gibson at ABC, Brian Williams at NBC and Katie Couric at CBS millions of viewers and more millions of ad revenues.

Look for a major overhaul of the local news programs leading into the network news. Every station has used the news for a pre-retirement assignment. They are experimenting with everyone for the time slot.

My personal favorite news announcer is Alison Starling who does the morning news. Her numbers and performance are great so the ABC owned station in DC has tried her at the 5 pm and 6 pm news shows.

Of course the station was too cheap to assign someone to her morning and noon shows so poor Alison was doing the 5 am, noon, and 5 pm news, sometimes the 6 pm news, and doing real reporter stories in between. Whoever thought up that schedule wanted to kill her or must have been a relative of one of the old anchors who might be replaced.

When she did the 6 pm news with three old guys she looked like a cheerleader at a geriatric ward. Before the DC station and network overseers give her the 6 pm news like they should some other network will steal her. Maybe this drag on the ratings by the local evening news anchors is why they call them anchors in the first place.

Morris Point Restaurant Beware...

The Morris Point Restaurant will be the scene probably March 31 for the next cuisine review by the Coltons Point Times. Accessible by land or water, which is not a bad way to be for the folks of the Point, this quaint place with it’s quirky owners, Chris, chef de cuisine of the seafood joint and wife Dainty Deb, will be put to the test. Of course it is the only restaurant within about ten miles of the Point besides the Potomac Gardens Arrow Beer bar with the bowls of beer nuts served for every meal, and most people find beer nuts to not be a very balanced meal. One thing I do know, you can always get the drink you want because you have to bring your own. So we will see you all on the 31st at the Morris Point eatery and give you our verdict shortly after the experience. Let's hope there is not another episode like our last visit when things got a little out of hand.

St. Patrick's Day Aftermath

It was generally a quiet day for St. Pats here in the Point with the exceptions of a couple of near disturbances in the north end. At Marie Antoinette's place there was a jam session with Stevie Van Zany leading the charge and an effort was made to play a rendition of Danny Boy in honor of the Irish. Sorry to say no one knew the words and the song was a very short but energetic performance. Up the road at the home of Sweet Sue and Colorado Chris another of their monthly family reunions took place, strange green stuff in glasses circulated freely, and no one cared what they sang.

But down at the Potomac Gardens and Arrow Beer Bar Quiet George actually refused to serve an Irish Cowboy at the bar and caused the biggest stir of all for the holiday as no one knows when George ever turned down a patron before. This time there may have been good reason. Does anyone know the name of the Celtic Cowboy trying to get served at the Arrow Beer Bar, and no it was not Haughty Helen's mysterious boyfriend?

Quiet George Gets Gator!

Quiet George, the outspoken owner of the Potomac Gardens Arrow Beer Bar can often be seen driving the long distance from his house to the Bar across the street in a vintage golf cart probably first used in the 1947 Masters Tournament. At other times he can be seen chugging around the Point in said vintage golf cart sputtering and wheezing as it cruises the Point.

But no longer. Seems Quiet George had an epiphany and decided it was time to admit the old cart had died long ago, and it was only surviving because of life support. So he pulled the plug and got himself a brand new shiny green and yellow Gator, the hottest off the road hot rod built for on the road drivers like Quiet George. At least Duke Deere says something like that about the John Deere Gator.

We caught Quiet George bringing his new gator home and thought we would share it with you. By the way, if you hear him coming be sure and get out of the way.

Hillbilly Joe and the Incredible Labyrinth

We have not had too much to tell you about Hillbilly Joe and his adventures because, quite frankly, we were worried about the effect it might have on your mental stability. Now I figure if you all take the time to follow the news media today, which most of you do, then your mental state must already be pretty fragile and Hillbilly stories might only make you worse, thus raising the average income of the Coltons shrinks.

But now I don’t really care because they, the shrinks, are entitled to their income and what makes me the overseer of the mental state of the Pointers? People will find their own path to insanity and why miss good stories like those of the legendary Hillbilly Joe.

His latest misguided nightmare, which comes to him every time he adjusts the face mask he wears to sleep to regulate the oxygen supply to his brain, as if the oxygen flow to his brain really had anything to do with his thought process, is a tale of tragedy no one should miss.

Hillbilly made one of his infrequent ventures out of the safety of the Coltons swampland with a group of friends to attend a reunion, the kind of social occasion in reality he would avoid like the plague. It must have been some kind of reunion because it was in a hotel that was over 100 stories tall.

Hillbilly checked in and the concierge, the fact they even had a concierge shows you what kind of hotel this was, sent a bell hop to show Hillbilly his room. Like a good country boy Hillbilly left his bags in the lobby so as not to burden the bellhop and to avoid having to spend extra money tipping the guy just for carrying bags.

The room was on the 1st floor although the bellboy took him on the elevator to get there. That should have been the first sign of trouble to old unsuspecting Hillbilly but he didn’t find it odd figuring the bellhop was just taking the long way to get a bigger tip. Once he got there he graciously tipped the guy twenty-five cents and returned with him to the lobby to get his bags.

Armed with two giant suitcases packed by his mother so he would be prepared for anything and any weather, although he was only there for two nights, Hillbilly ambled over to the elevator and punched the button. Inside he punched the button for the 1st floor and the elevator took off for what seemed like eternity to get him where he started, the first floor.

When the door opened all Hillbilly could see were endless corridors and stepping out of the elevator, which promptly slammed the door shut and took off, Hillbilly noticed for the first time there were no room numbers on the doors. Now how in the world was he going to find his room?

At this point he had a key to a room and no clue where the room might be so down the hall he went trying door after door until he came to the 17th door which promptly opened. In the somewhat exhausted Hillbilly went only to discover someone had already moved all their stuff into the room and it couldn’t be his.

Back in the hallway he concluded he was clearly on the wrong floor and set out in search of a stairway as there didn’t seem to be anymore elevator doors around. Finding a sign for the stairs he slammed through the door with the two giant bags in tow and before him the stairs seemed to go straight, not up or down like he expected.

Suffice it to say the day was quite confusing for Hillbilly as he trudged along the flat stairs to the next floor, checked the numberless doors, and came back to the stairs. Several hours later he found a window in the lobby, looked out, and realized he was halfway up the 100 story hotel in search of his room on the first floor.

Well this sad saga goes on and on and he proceeded to meet two women in the stairway also lost. The three stayed together for hours sharing some of the snacks packed in his giant bags before parting company. It was 48 hours later, yes two days, when poor Hillbilly sat down on his bags in utter dismay and all of a sudden through the stairway door popped three of his buddies from the reunion.

They wanted to know where he had been for the past two days; he missed all the parties and beer. Then they led him out the door to his room, the first door they reached. Exhausted but thankful Hillbilly went in only to find the strangest sight.

When he made reservations he ordered a room with a king size bed. The bed he faced was kind of king size as the top mattress was a king, but the box springs under it were full size, thus leaving the king size mattress draping over the box springs to the floor. Some joke he thought.

Jerking the king mattress off he threw it on the floor, promptly dropped to the mattress, and tried to put the entire nightmare behind him by going to sleep without his sleep machine. He awoke to an earthquake, the floor and walls shaking, before he realized it was just his mom pounding at the trailer door wanting to know if he was ready for breakfast. Hillbilly Joe is not so sure about the sleep machine and face mask anymore. And he sure isn’t accepting any invitations to reunions.

He’s Back…

I took a hiatus to see if anyone noticed I wasn’t posting articles. No one did. So I decided to wait until there was something in the news worth writing about. There wasn’t and still isn’t. So I guess I have to manufacture something news worthy and that’s okay, it can’t be any worse than the stories in the real news.

Today the Maryland legislature voted to apologize for slavery. What nonsense. Other states did the same earlier making the nonsense all the worse. Why in the world are the states apologizing for something that ended 142 years ago? Who are the elected officials who are worried more about 142 year old stuff than the problems of today?

What about the economic uncertainty facing the voters? Ethics? Campaign reform? Crooked credit card companies? Crooked predators working to collect money for the crooked credit card companies? Lousy building contractors? Contaminated food in the stores over and over again? What in the world is in the water in Annapolis to scramble their brains like this?

Maybe we should apologize to the Native American Indians we enslaved, put in prisons and called them reservations, stole their children and forced them into Christianity, and killed off about 100 million thanks to our liquor, guns and disease.

Then we can apologize to the Mexicans, the ones we now refer to as illegals, for stealing their country and homes which used to include all the western USA. Of course there are the Irish and Chinese we placed into the equivalent of forced labor to build the railroads crossing America.

Speaking of apologies, aren’t we owed a few as well? I think the English should apologize for driving us out of England for religious purposes, then stealing our free country back and fighting us in several wars trying to claim ownership to the USA.

The oil companies should apologize for stealing our money. Drug companies should apologize for making us an addicted nation on a collective national trip, to paraphrase former Maryland Governor Spiro Agnew.

Whites should apologize for the KKK, Blacks for the Symbonese Liberation Army. Voters should apologize for the idiots we put in office and politicians should apologize for what they do to us when they get there.

Schools can apologize for all the illiterate high school graduates. George and Barbara Bush can apologize for George, Jr. Yale University can apologize for giving us Bush and Clinton. Matter of fact, when George Jr. is finished next year the USA will have had a Yale educated president for 20 straight years, and Hillary Clinton, yet another Yale graduate, stands in the wings.

So get over it America! We are not a nation of wimps. We did not control the sins of our fathers, their fathers, and their father’s fathers. Get on to dealing with the sins of today and tomorrow, the ones hurting people right here and right now.

World News Recap

The Democrats have now been in control of congress for the first quarter of the year and how are they doing with their laundry list of immediate promises?

The stock market has collapsed, regrouped, and collapsed again.
The trade deficit set another record.
No news on immigration reform.
No news on campaign reform.
Oil prices are skyrocketing again for no reason.
Congress still refuses to investigate the interlocking ownership in oil.
Housing foreclosures are setting new records.
About half of congress is running for president.
The war in Iraq continues as if congress doesn’t even exist.

Hey, things remain pretty much the same and that’s all I have to say about that.

Admiral Gibby’s Seige…

Seems his long battle with the Giant Ground Hog might be at an end. The Admiral, as many of you know, lives at the first line of defense against the forces of nature that wander our way from the swamps and creeks surrounding the Point. Old Gibby is the first to encounter the dangerous varmints making their way in from the lowlands and one day a Giant Ground Hog showed up.

To hear the Admiral tell it, the Ground Hog proceeded to start undermining his entire house with holes big enough for New York subway cars to get through. Not only that but everything the Admiral planted, and he was well known for his abundant flower and vegetable gardens, seem to disappear over night.

Gibby put out the standard traps and the Giant Ground Hog made a mockery of them, casting them aside during nightfall. One morning the Admiral heard a real fuss in a trap only to discover he’d caught one of the cats in the neighborhood. After a few futile weeks he called in the Animal Control specialists and the Giant Ground Hog set out to show them how little they knew about trapping. Every day it seemed they would show up, find the discarded traps, and bring bigger ones. It got so we were worried the Admiral might go out some night and get caught in his own traps.

When the shotgun blasts started one night and in a matter of days it seemed like World War III was about to break out the Coltons Point Times decided it was time to get to the bottom of this situation. Long about sundown a reporter was sent to the Admiral’s homestead and sure enough, there stood Gibby staring out across his lawn with a shot gun in his hands waiting to spot the Giant Ground Hog before it could finish leveling his home. About ten feet directly behind the Admiral stood the wily old Ground Hog, up on his hind legs chewing an apple and watching to see what the old man was going to shoot next. For the longest time our reporter stood there watching the Giant Ground Hog watch Admiral Gibby. Finally he waddled off to the woods and not a shot was fired that night.

Rumor has it after several months of warfare either Gibby finally got the varmint or the varmint packed up and left for greener pastures. Then again, since the next occupants under the Admiral’s house were skunks, maybe the Giant Ground Hog decided to seek fresher air.