Tap Handles

I realize that my posting has been rather sporadic lately. I certainly have had ample time to so so. I have been somewhat disgusted with myself that my blog has turned into a journal of "useless information" (thanks Mick). I have worked a few "night jobs" the last few weeks and it has been hot as hell and my old BBQ competition team once again won in the Annual Hempstead Watermelon BBQ Cooking Contest. The Mrs The Third and I had the chance to visit some of our old friends last week and I must admit the experience was bittersweet.


This started as a beer blog and dammit I need to veer back on course. I need to stop detailing the circus life of my (what is turning out to be) part time job with the Power Load. Additionally stories about my feelings and favorite sports teams are pretty sappy I suppose. I need to focus on the quest for the golden liquid staff of life.


I have two son in laws. Both of them are special to me (in their own way). My first one (the one who joined the family first) is my granddaughter's (Little Cat) daddy. He actually is a good man but he is not as intellectually developed as I am sure one day he will be. I admire his child like qualities yet he is a good and loving husband to his wife (my daughter who still has no official TBC nickname). The past few months has required that he grow up a lot and he is do quite well at it.


My second son in law, The Jim is (as I have cited in previous blogs) far and away the smartest person I have ever met. He is actually the person who inspired me to begin TBC. He too is a good and loving husband to his wife, The Prodigy.


Upon returning from vi sting with our friends last Saturday we returned home to find a package addressed to me. Inside was a tee shirt. At first The Mrs. The Third began to berate me for purchasing yet another tee shirt. I literally have over a hundred now. What I found was a custom made shirt that said on the front "The Brew Chronicles - Quenching Your Thirst For Knowledge" Also on the front of the shirt are numerous pictures of beer logos that have found their way on my blogs and centered among them is my family crest. On the back of the shirt is the address to this blog and a Celtic cross with what looks like a beer mug inside of it.

The shirt really is an inspired work of art and I am very impressed with it. It was my father's day gift from The Prodigy and The Jim and it was the idea and brainchild project of The Jim. It has been a long time since I have received a gift that has been as special as this has been. Now if I can get my "crappy art" I will be a happy man. I plan on wearing it this evening as The Mrs The Third and I step into O'Brien's for a weekly three "happy hour" pints.


Speaking of O'Brien's, I must admit that little place is becoming a pretty good "beer bar". Their selection is continuing to improve. They still have not truly bit the bullet and tapped a real I.P.A., but they are certainly on the right tract. They will be soon pouring # 9 from Magic Hat. They will be one of only a few select places in Texas that will be doing so. a few months ago I brought back a couple of bottles for them to sample and now within a few days they will have the beer on tap. Actually I have recommended several other beers for them to tap. They have followed my suggestions several times and each has been very successful for them.

I began thinking the other day what other beers I would love to see on tap at my favorite pub.

Here is my list. I will actually make a copy of it and give it to Ryan (one of the owners of the pub)
I submit this list with only two criteria.

a. There is or possibly is, a cult following of the beer

b. The beer is actually good



1. Yuengling Lager

2. any beer from Bell Brewery

3. any beer from Schlafly Brewery

4. Moose Drool Brown Ale

5. Red Trolley ale

6. any beer from Abita Brewing

7. Firestone Walker Double Barrel Ale (awesome beer)

8. any beer from Alaskan Brewery

9. any beer from New Glarus Brewery (Spotted Cow or Flying Squirrel)

10. Smuttynose Brown Dog Ale

11. any beer from Flying Dog Brewery

12. any beer from Odell Brewery (Their 90 Shilling and IPA are both awesome)

13. any beer from Flying Fish Brewery

14. Goose Island 312 (what I consider one of the best wheat beers I have ever had)

15. Goose Island Honker Ale

16, Widmer Brother's Drifter Ale

17. any beer from Allagash Brewing (preferably their whit beer)

18. any beer from Hair of the Dog Brewery (Fred or Blue Dot would be my favs)

19. any beer from Uncle Billy's Brewery (I like Hell in Keller)

20. Pearl (Triple X's for Texas)

I will be leaving Sunday to drive up to Minnesota for about a week. I am looking forward to some Scape Goat and Moose Droll as well as other cool beers I have not had in a while.

I will be taking my blogging machine with me and I will attempt to write a few lines or two.

....don't you know,

The Third

Gris Gris

The last time I was in the Big Easy was several years ago. It was pre Katrina. I was working here with a friend of mine and (at the time my boss). His company was a MBE. I had been working pretty hard to impress him as to how well I did on the job and I think he really was buying it. He was so impressed that he agreed to buy me dinner at any restaurant in New Orleans that I chose.. Trust me, they have a few here.( Oh yea I am back again. I brought my blogging machine with me) . I did him right and we ate at The Napoleon House. For those of you who are unfamiliar with New Awlins food, The Napoleon House and Central Grocery both claim to have invented the Mufelleta sandwich. I tend to think the claim rightfully belongs to the later but in my opinion the best Mufelleta is served at The Napoleon House. It is located on Chartes Street in the Heart of the "Quarter". The last time I was here the Essence Festival was in high swing and once again the 15th Annual Essence Festival was this weekend. A co worker (from West"By Gawd" Virginia) and I visited the "Quarter" this past Wednesday night. It was so hot it was nearly impossible to breathe. The sandwich was every bit as good as I imagined it to be. Aman was truly impressed. I also had a bowl of gumbo which was very tasty and a "Dixie" "Jazz" beer to wash it all down. I must admit it was a little strange drinking a beer enriched in New Orleans folk lore yet now brewed in Wisconsin. (Although I read they may one day brew in New Orleans). After our meal I took Aman on a stroll down Bourbon Street then to Jackson Square where some pimp was threatening to beat up his whore. We passed the one room flat my cousin Donnie had on Pirate Alley across from the side of St. Louis Cathedral . I took him to Cafe DuMonde where he informed me he did not like coffee thus ending up at my favorite watering holes in New Orleans,, Tujacques. We were back on the Westbank before 10 PM. The three hour tour sated my Big Easy fix for at least a few more years. My co worker was pretty impressed. I even ordered a dozen on the half shelf and he quaffed one down to prove he was not a pussy. I still ate the remaining 12.


I grew up in Louisisana but far away from New Orleans. When I was 8 , the same year I had the mumps, my father took us all to the Crescent City for the first time. I remember strolling on Decatur and smelling the fish at the fish market and the coffee and beinets. We toured the Cabildo and St. Louies.


I have returned many times since. I have walked, stumbled and crawled all over the Quarter. I have ridden the Ferris wheel and swam in the Pontchartrain. I have ridden the street cars and slept in a house in the Garden District. I have drank Irish whiskey in Irish Town and eaten some of the best German food in America at Kolbs. I stood in line for two hours to eat at K Paul's. I have had Sunday Brunch at Commander's Palace. I have spent time along Carrolton and I consider Rocky and Carlos' the best place on this planet to eat a oyster poboy and the Ferdie at Mother's is beyond belief.



When I witnessed the flooding from Katrina a few years back I honestly could not hold back the tears. I have never had any desire to live in New Orleans. If your were to give me the finest house in the Garden District I would visit only. But like it or not the Parish seat of Orleans (pronounce Or leens) is embedded in everyone who ever lived in the Sportsman's' Paradise.

New Orleans and the surrounding area is famous for several people. Uncle Carlos, (Carlos Marcello)* come to mind as well as the only man in America to be actually excummunitcated from The Catholic Church ( the Pope) because of his racist views, Judge Leandor Perez

Both men are still revered in the area. I must admit that Uncle Carlos was my cousin Jeff (Liam's) actual Godfather.

The word corruption originated in New Orleans. Mayors are infamous for their nefarious willing and dealing. I recall good old Moon Landreu and his successors Dutch and Marc Morial, Sidney Barthelemy and Ray Nagin. They have perfected the fine art of entitlement. What I am about to write is true and is free of hyperbole. .....

The Parish of Orleans, Louisiana and the City of New Orleans has received a significant more federal aid and Federal Government subsidy than any other parish/county and city in America, prior and after August 29, 2005. Thats right before and...after. A significant amount of New Orleans residents who are male are of a third generation of men who have not held a full time job at any point in their life. They, like their fathers and grand fathers have woke each morning and shuffled down St. Claude to the nearest corner store and purchased a Forty and a pack of Kools. They are the biological parent of numerous children and receive a portion of each child's mother's government subsidy check. they have lived in deplorable conditions and continue to inseminate future welfare recipients. Before the levee broke and flooded the lower Ninty Ward. The entire area was a true shit hole. When the levee broke it was just a wet shit hole.

The Army Corps of Engineers has subsidized New Orleans and the surrounding area for decades. The Feds realized that the levees truly needed to be reinforced. those guy (engineers) knew that any form of adjustment in the current weather patterns would cause a cataclysmic change in the water flow in the Mississippi River as well as the second largest saltwater estuary in America. Millions and millions of dollars were doled out to a litany of governmental agencies.

But the Nola power elite had a plan. It is the sort of plan that only someone from Louisiana could appreciate. "Lets tell the Feds we are spending money on levee repair. Let give them horseshit receipts and get all of the money. We could use the money to divert river sand from the Big Muddy and deposit into Lakes Maurepas and Pontchartrain. We could in effect create new land. Upon it we shall build a gambling mecca on the level of Las Vegas. We can then tax the living shit out of the tourists and use the money to build a first rate levee system. So in the long run, the money received from the Feds for levee enhancement will ultimately result in actually levee enhancement. ...But then a not so gentle lady named Katrina came to call and the idea washed out with the floods.

So they were caught right? Well not really. It seems that they are now saying the Feds simply did not give enough money and besides George W. failed to have buses lined up to deliver the wards of the state to higher ground.

I could go on but what's the use?

Laissez les bon temps roulez

Le Tiers

Post Script

* Carlos Marcello was a mafia "Don". He was the "Godfather of Louisiana". Most people in Louisiana knew of him. ( Even way up in Shreveport). There are many people who believe that he is responsible for the assasination of John F. Kennedy. One day I received a call from my cousin Jeff to eat lunch with him and my uncle Alpin. I met them at a resturant called Sansone's. on King's highway. When I walked in I saw Jeff and Uncle Al setting at a table with an older man. I walked up and my uncle introduced me to Mr. Marcello, Jeff's Godfather. Many year's later I served as a pall bearer at my cousin's funeral. As I was escorting Liam's casket from the altar I looked up into the crowd of mourner's. My eyes were filled with tears and I looked and I saw that man I met at Sansone's so many years earlier. He was crying harder than I was.

3rd

Texas Tiger

In December 1950 my father's new wife of one month, was having what she thought was home-sick pains in the frozen plains of Woodstock, Illinois. He was working for Ford Bacon & Davis, an engineering company. He had recently graduated with a degree in Forestry from Stephen F. Austin University. The cold and snow was more than Mother could bear. She began to have stomach cramps and my father rushed her to the hospital. The doctor informed her that he thought she may be pregnant and was having a miscarriage. He proposed to perform a "DNC" if she was with child. He needed to determine if she was indeed pregnant or not. The test revealed that she was not and for some reason he decided to wait a few days to see if she would improve before he performed the procedure. She went home that night. I was born in late August the following year. The test result was incorrect. Yes I was actually conceived in Woodstock, and yes I was nearly aborted.

My father quit his job with FB&D a few days after Christmas and they moved to Waskom, Texas where he took a job that he would have for over thirty years. While living in East Texas my mother began having labor pains on a hot (it was 109 degrees) August afternoon. When my father arrived home from work he rushed her to a small clinic located nearby. The doctor informed my parents that the baby was in distress and would need to be delivered by "cesarean". He stated it had to be done right then and that they could not wait to drive to nearby Shreveport, Louisiana. I was born around 8:00 PM in a small clinic located on the Northwest Corner of US Highway 80 and North State Line Road, Harrison County, Texas. (The building today houses a BBQ joint) Shortly thereafter my mother and I were transported via ambulance to the Highland Sanitarium in Shreveport, Louisiana. A birth certificate was issued in the county seat of Harrison County, Texas (Marshall) and a birth certificate was issued in the parish seat of Caddo Parish, Louisiana, (Shreveport). I can legally claim that I am a native born Texan as well as a native born Louisiana. Yes, I am a Jack Ass and a Coon Ass.

I have always been proud to be a native born Texan. I am equally proud of my Louisiana roots. My paternal grandmother was actually cajun (Meloncon). I never heard her speak French until the last couple of years of her life. She, like my other grandmother, lived to the age of 98. She was living in a "rest home" and one of the nurses attending to her would converse with Bessie in Acadian French. To my amazement she sounded like a real coon ass ( of which I guess she was). She used to tell me that while she was young child living in a small community of Laccisine (Jefferson Davis Parish) she only spoke French. In fact she says she only learned English a few year before she married my grand father (Dit).

I embrace my cajun heritage (albiet distant). But I do not deny that I really am a Native Texican.

We moved to Louisiana in 1959. Growing up in Louisiana I quickly learned that the state was divided into two distinctive parts. I admit I-49 has bridged the two partially. But you are either from North or South. Growing up in Northwest Louisiana we were referred to as red necks or hillbillys. Some of us are called Y.C.A 's (Yankee coon asses).

Texas on the other hand is vast. Each area of the State has it's own uniqueness but all share in one common bond. There's North Texas, East Texas, South Texas, West Texas, The Valley, Central Texas, Gulf Coast and The Permian, The Golden Triangle, The Piney Woods, The Hill Country, & The Panhandle. We are all Texans.

My teen aged years were spent in Northern Louisiana. I participated in sports (baseball and football) in both Junior High and High School. I quickly became a die hard LSU fan. It all started when my cousin Donnie who was attending Louisiana State, got two tickets for my Dad and I to Tiger Stadium to witness a contest between the Number One team in the country (and defending National Champions) (LSU) play the number Three team in the country (Ole Miss). I was only eight years old and on Halloween of 1959, Dad and I boarded the "Tiger Special" and rode to Baton Rouge to watch the contest. We arrived around 3 PM and we visited the State Capital Building and the LSU campus. My cousin introduced me to Michael Mangum, a tight end for LSU who caught the winning touchdown pass in that year's National Championship game. Over twenty years later I would receive free tickets to LSU-Texas A&M games from that same Mickey Mangum. From that October day in 1959 I was hooked and addicted. I was, am and will always be a Tiger Fan.
Later in my life I too would attend Louisiana State University as a student. I actually attempted to try out for their football team but after three days of summer drills I quickly determined I would never make the team. Besides a month later I had plans to travel to upstate New York for a music festival. I also tried out for the baseball team in October of 1969 and to my surprise I did make the team. For the next two years I was a utility infielder playing mostly first and second base for the squad. My jersey number was 2. In my two years of playing baseball, I had a combined batting average of 276 and a total of one home run (hit against the University of Tennessee). I was a mediocre player playing for a poor team. I did accumulate enough playing team to qualify as a "letterman" (I never did actually receive my letter) I am eligible to be a member of the "L" Club (an organization of former lettermen athletes from LSU). I also played percussion in the Golden Band From Tigerland (Tigerband). In 1971 ABC Telivision and General Motors awarded us with the distinction as the number one college marching band in America. That award was only given one time. .

In 1974 I moved back to Texas and have lived here ever since. Like I said earlier I am a Native Born Texan. I am proud of that fact. But I am a Tiger Fan as well. I am a Texas Tiger.

I work with a couple of guys who live in West Virginia. They are each huge West Virginia fans. I admire their undying loyalty to their "school". They tend to be immensely proud of WVU and the Big East Conference. I have been an LSU fan since my dad took me on that train trip to Baton Rouge to see a future Heisman trophy winner romp 89 yards for a touchdown after all 11 opposing players had attempted to tackle him.

My Mountaineer compatriots like to trash my beloved Tigers. They tend to feel we are overrated and not up to the caliber of WVU athletics. I differ with them and I offer the following as my proof.

Since 2000 (the past nine years) the following has happened:

LSU won 2000 & 2009 National Championship in Men's Baseball
LSU won 2000 & 2003 National Championship in Women's Outdoor Track and Field
LSU won 2001 & 2004 National Championship in Men's Indoor Track and Field
LSU won 2002 & 2003 National Championship in Men's Outdoor Track and Field
LSU won 2002, 2003, & 2004 National Championship in Women's Indoor Track and Field
LSU won 2003 & 2007 National Championship in Football
LSU was in the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four in 2006.
LSU was in the NCAA Women's Basketball Final Four in 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, & 2008.
LSU was in Men's Baseball CWS in 2000 (they won) 2003, 2004, 2008, & 2009 (they won)
LSU was in Womens' Softball CWS in 2001 & 2004

Thats a total of 13 National Championships.

WVU won 2009 National Championship in Men's Air Rifle.

Since first competing athletically Louisiana State University has won 44 NCAA National Championships.

This ranks them 1st in their conference (Southeastern) and 5th nationally. Alabama (the State which includes the University of Alabama and Auburn University) can only lay claim to a total of 18 National Championship. The University of Florida and the University of Georgia combined can not claim as many National titles as LSU. The Ohio State University only has 26 National Championships. If you add every single National Title from every school in the State of Texas (including Texas A&M's recent National Championship in Men's Golf, and both Women's Basketball titles from Texas Tech and Baylor) you still would not have more than what the Tigers has won.
In team sports, LSU has never lost a championship game for the National title.
No Division I team in the nation has actually won more National Championship games in football than LSU. Only one team (USC) in the nation has won more National Championships in Men's Baseball than LSU (6).

West Virgina University has won a total of 14 National Championships (not too shabby) all in the same sport (?). In fact they won this year too. The Men's Air Rifle Team defeated the University of Alaska at Anchorage at the National Championships held at TCU in Fort Worth Texas


The February 12, 2009 issue of The Daily Atheneaum (the official school newspaper of West Virginia University) is quoted as saying

WVU rifle team deserves respect

It’s the first time a West Virginia team has been ranked No. 1 since the football team earned the ranking on Nov. 25, 2007.
It’s still the only West Virginia team to ever win a NCAA National Championship.
In fact, the team has 13 of them. And it’s sad that only a handful of Mountaineer students actually know that the WVU rifle team is soaring above all competition this year.
The lack of support isn’t just with rifle this year. The theme of poor student support has been seen all year for West Virginia athletics. Even though a record number of student football tickets were requested this year, most of the students were gone before the fourth quarter even started. WVU men’s basketball head coach Bob Huggins has already had to plea to the students for more support at home games, while the number of fans women’s basketball head coach Mike Carey sees on any given night could be counted on his own two hands.
Gymnastics has seen decent support this year but mostly from local elementary and middle school kids. WVU students are hard to come by.

And then there’s the rifle team – the most successful team at the school. I would doubt that a single student has ever seen one of its matches.


On September 8, 2007 the Hokies of Virginia Tech University claiming to have the nation's number one rated defense, left Death Valley after being pummeled 48-7. At the end of the regular season they actually argued that they were more worthy of being in the national championship game than the Tigers ( who eventually thrashed The Ohio State University)

I am saving my nickels and dimes to attend the Tiger Feast of September 25, 2010. I plan on going to that bayou beat down.

Now I know this could all be considered "smack talk". But the facts are indeed the facts. But I admire my Mountaineer friends. They are not fair weather fans. They are proud of their team just as I am. They proudly where their Old Gold and Blue garb. They, just like us, win and they loose but they still are fans and that is really all that matters.

My friend Eric likes to say "It's a good day to be a Mountaineer". It's always a good day to be one. And it is a good day to be a Horn, an Ag, a Frog or even a Tiger.

As a native born Texan I have to be proud of the State's University (s). The only problem is which hand gesture do I use, Sic em Bears, Hook em Horns, Guns Up, or Gig em Ags? I prefer to do as LSU's baseball coach recommneds. Raise fist into the air and then simply extend index finger into the air and proudly admit we are indeed Number One!

At least at the Old War Skule our fight song does not mention another specific school and we certainly do not advocate physical harm to their teams' mascot. But I do like the Aggie War Hymn. Their "Gig em" phrase comes from a quote from a former A&M Board of Regents member, Pinky Downs, when asked what his team would do to intra state rivals Texas Christian University. Besides since my oldest (soon to be a TCU grad) is married to an Ag thus including me into the Aggie Family.

..... Good bye to texas university - So long to the orange and the white-Good luck to dear old Texas Aggies They are the boys who show the real old fight -'the eyes of Texas are upon you' That is the song they sing so well Sounds Like Hell - So good bye to texas university - We're gonna beat you all to Chigaroogarem Chigaroogarem - Rough, Tough, Real stuff, Texas A&M Saw varsity's horns off - Saw varsity's horns off - Saw varsity's horns off -Short! A! Varsity's horns are sawed off - Varsity's horns are sawed off Varsity's horns are sawed off Short! A!

In summation I leave you with my favorite LSU Tiger cheer

Hot boudin - Cold cush-cush - Come on Tigers - Push - Push - Push !

Air rifle? Hell that is about as much as sport as NASCAR.



Geaux Tigers !



The Third



Post Script:

For my Longhorn fans: How 'bout dem Tigers ?

3rd

Tempus Fugit, Momento Mori

Today is June 24th. It is an anniversary of a day that I would have wished never had happened.

My grandmother, Augusta Victoria Boone passed away on June 22, 1980. She was 98 year of age. I had been with my wife and daughter swimming at Crystal Lake (in East Texas) when I received the news. The next day I travelled to Coushatta, Louisiana to be with my mother as she and her siblings picked out the coffin in which my mau maw would be laid to rest.
I was the only grandchild there.

Two days later my brother and I along with my cousins Terrel and Gerald Hines and Bobby and Ray Baird served as pall bearers. After the funeral, the family assembled at my Aunt Mable's (Hines) house for a huge meal. Afterwards, my wife, daughter and I followed my father (in his company vehicle) and my mother and brother (in my mother's car) to the old "home place" It was hardly recognizable. It was all grown up. The house my mother had be raised, had long been burnt down. We all parked under the huge sweet gum tree (where I used to circle on my Western Flyer many years earlier). My mother walked around a bit as we all stood in the hot shade of the tree. Mother had just buried her mother and was about to drive back to Houston with my brother. My Dad was going to leave and drive to Longview, Texas where he had a few meetings to attend and I along with the first Mrs The Third and The Prodigy would be leaving to go to Shreveport to continue our week long vacation. I walked over to my mother and said "At least you were ready" I was attempting to comfort her. She turned around and looked me directly into the eyes. She had red hair and her face was red and puffy from crying and she said "T.W. ... Tommy, you are never ready." she reached down and picked up a small pebble from the ground and handed it to me. She said to keep it and always remember where it came from and where I come from. I still have that rock somewhere in storage. Shortly we all left and went in our separate directions. Less than an hour later my mother and brother's car was struck broadside by a logging truck and both of them were dead.

Now 29 years later I sat at my blogging machine thinking of my departed mother and brother. I don't get as melancholy and emotional as I used to and I realize that it is only a day just like any other. My mother had just turned 52 year old. I am now 57. My brother was only 24 years old. I realize that of the six of us to carry my grandmother to her grave only I am still living. Today's anniversary reminds meof how swiftly time flies and of my own mortality and that in facing life I am still never ready.

So I end this blog with the last words I ever heard my mother say.

"I Love You"



The Third

Dear Ole Dad

It is Father's day and thus far I have received "Happy Dad's Day" text messages from my brother and sister in law and a coworker. (Tio) We have been trading smack over the up coming Tiger-Longhorn series up in Omaha at Alex Box North. Oops I just got a text from Little Cat's mommy. And The Rock Star Mentality just came to our bedroom and showed me her new lip piercing. Ok now I got another text from a new Dad, my son in law.

My father, T.W. will have been gone 10 years this coming December. Of course, I miss him but I can honestly say that I did not leave anything on the table with him.

He and his father, my Grandaddy (Dit), were actually best friends. I always thought that I should have been best friends with my Dad. I felt that really never got to that point but as I grow older I am beginning to think perhaps we were. I am satisfied our relationship was a good one.

T.W. was a good and wise parent and I guess I can only hope that my offspring will be able to truly feel the same way of me.

I could write on and on about T.W. But last night I was laying in bed and thinking about him and my first new car.

As I have mentioned in earlier postings, my first car was a 1965 Blue and White four door sedan Chevrolet Impala with a 283 V-8 four barrel. After about a year I purchased my father's company vehicle which was a 1968 White four door sedan Chevrolet Impala (which I promptly wrecked the first week I had it). I drove that land shark for about a year. It got terrible gas mileage and my mother began to suggest that I consider getting a car that got much better fuel economy. Gas was selling for about 29 cents per gallon at the time but there were rumours that the price would be going up to nearly a dollar per gallon. Mother suggested that I look into this new car called a Toyota. I went and looked at one but to be honest, I would have rather walked that drive one of those. They were not even close to being sporty. I had been watching commercials and reading Car & Driver and I had my sites set on the all new Chevy Vega GT. It was small and sporty. It was supposed to get good gas mileage and Chevy was claiming they would not change the body style for at least 5 years. If I were to by one I could essentially have a new car for 5 years.

I began my campaign to sell my parents on the idea. Dear old Dad seemed as if he really did not give a shit. I kept telling him how great the Vega GT was. On a Saturday he and I drove over to Red River Chevrolet. Before long I was behind the wheel of a brand new 1971 Chevy Vega GT. The salesman made a big mistake. When we went to test drive the car, he sat in the front seat and let my father squeeze into the small area known as the back seat. I realized pretty soon that Dad was just not "buying". Even as I drove around downtown Bossier City, Louisiana, I realized my dreams of owning a sports car were over. As we walked into the showroom I realized that my father was about to tell the salesman thanks but no thanks. There between the babyshit yellow Monte Carlo and the Red Corvette was a light blue metallic Camaro. "What about this one?" My father inquired. My heart froze. "Sorry but that one is sold" replied the salesman. "Surely you have more of them in stock don't you?" "Sure"said the salesman. and within a few minutes we were outside looking at rows and rows of camaros. Dad loved the color blue and he seemed pretty acceptable to the idea of upgrading my Vega GT dreams as long as the car was blue. There were at least 50 Camaroes on the lot and none of them were blue. I was speechless. In a short while he found a light green (Cottonwood Green) camaro. It was pretty stripped down and only had a six cylinder in it. But it was a Camaro. Right then and there he told the salesman he wanted it. And the deal was struck.

It was amazing. Later that day we received a phone call that the car we picked out was actually sold as well. We were about to drive back over to the dealership but Dad said he would go alone. I argued but I did not want to press the issue. Since my parents were paying for the car (I was to work and pay them monthly) I felt I had better let Dad do as he wanted. Later that evening he returned and told me that he picked an avocado green one and this one had a V-8 rather than a six cylinder. He told me it seemed to be a little bit sportier. I was thinking how could a green car ever be sporty. But trust me I was very happy non the less. He and my mother would pick it up the following Monday and drop it off where I was working as a payroll clerk (UPS) as a summer job.
Around 4:30 they showed up and I ran out into the parking lot. A lot of the drivers were getting in and were all looking at my brand new 1971 Z-28. Holy Shit it was not only a camaro but a Z-28 with a 330 horse power 350 cubic inch LT1 engine with a 4 speed Hurst shifter. On that day I realized my father really was cool. Left up to me I would have been tooling around in a Vega GT instead I had a real sports car. A few days later I have Craiger slotted mags placed on it and I installed a Pioneer eight track tape deck with four speakers. I was riding around in Shreveport in the hottest car around listening to Spirit singing I Gotta a Line on You. Life was good.

All because of my Dad


Thanks Dad.

The Third

Kim Chee

I thought I would just post a protest song as my tirade but to be honest I do have another tirade.
I realize our military is stretched a bit because of Iraq and Afghanistan but lets get real here.

Bomb North Korea into the stone age. Leave nothing except the buried kim chee pots. Kill them all! We can not be pushed around by this bush league country. End it now. We are viewed as the bully so lets show them we can be one. Our enemies need to know we can be as ruthless as their propaganda spouts we are.


The Third

We Can't Make It Here

The Third