Monday, October 30, 2006

Staying the Course Sucks

I read a quote recently that caught my attention - I just can’t remember who said it.

It stated that there is a great difference between stupidity and ignorance. If someone is ignorant, it means that they just don’t know any better. The problem may never have been explained to them or maybe they just don’t understand the situation.

Stupidity, on the other hand, is trying the same solution to a problem over and over again, even though it consistently fails, hoping for a different outcome.

Which category does “Stay the Course” in Iraq most closely match? For my money, it’s stupidity. We’ve now lost 100 troops in the month of October. How many last month? Or the month before?

If it ain’t workin’ stop doing it – the results are not going to change.


A pissed off Obi

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Lot Lizards

The first hooker, or lot lizard as they are affectionately known, that I saw while I was driving was during my over-the-road training period. There were three of us in the truck at the time and the trainer had dumped us at a run-down truck stop in Virginia Beach while he went home for a few days.

On Saturday morning we were sitting in the truck, bored out of our minds, when an attractive female in her early thirties walked onto the lot. Dressed in a short skirt, fishnet stockings and an off-the-shoulder blouse, she made the rounds, stopping at each driver who was outside his vehicle. Being Saturday morning, early, she didn’t appear to get any takers.

On one of my first solo runs, I stopped overnight at a truck stop in Texarkana, Arkansas off I-30. I hadn’t been parked for 5 minutes when a nice looking black young woman knocked on my driver-side door. “Hi. My name’s Bunny,” she said. “Looking for some company?” I declined, but every time I saw her that evening she was climbing into or out of someone’s truck.

While sitting in a truck stop in West Memphis, Arkansas, I saw two hookers trolling the lot. One was tall and skinny, the other shorter and rather hefty. Micro, micro mini-skirts and very high heels were the uniform of the day. In fact, I could see the skinny one’s ass as they walked through the parking lot.

In Oklahoma City, I had my CB radio turned on while I finished up my paperwork when the following conversation came over my radio.
“Any of you drivers looking for
some commercial company, bring
it back to ‘Hollywood’ on channel 17.”
What the hell – I’d flip to 17 and see what she was offering.
“Anybody make it to 17?”
“Yeah – this Hollywood?” another driver asked.
“It sure is, sugar – what you need?”
“How much for a blowjob?”
“Now sweetheart; you know I can’t tell
you that over the CB.”
“OK – then what can I get for $10?”
“A good look at my ass as I walk away.”
Everyone had a good laugh over that. I turned the radio off and went to sleep.

But the topper was at a very small truck stop in Delmar, Virginia on Highway 13 near the Maryland State Line. I had arrived at about 11 pm, hit the men’s room then went back to my truck and crashed. It had been a long day.

About 11:30 there was a loud “BANG-BANG-BANG” on the side of my truck.

“Go Away,” I yelled.

I slid out of the bunk, opened my curtains and looked out my window. Outside, smiling up at me, was a young woman. There was another of our company’s trucks parked next to mine, and she looked like she could have been the driver – she was dressed in
jeans and a sweater. I rolled down the window thinking she might need some help with her truck.

“Sleepin’ hard driver?”, she said

“I was,” I answered.

“Would you like some company?”

Given her appearance, the size of the truck stop and the area we were in, I was really surprised. I would have expected it in W. Memphis or any of a dozen other truck stops I’d been in. Plus, she was dressed like a regular person, not in the provocative type clothing favored by most of the truck stop hookers I’d seen.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I said, and started to roll up my window.

“Oh, come on now, driver,” she replied. “I’m not a cop – look!”
With that, she proved that she was not an undercover cop on a sting assignment. She pulled the sweater up to her chin, revealing a pert, young set of naked breasts. All of a
sudden I was face-to-face – or rather nose-to-nipple – with the bared chest of the person who had just woke me up.

“No, thanks, darlin’ – I’m too tired,” I stammered. Then she was off to the next truck, presumably to perform her little strip-tease one more time. I was too tired to see if she got any takers. I hit the bed again – alone.

Almost every truck stop has its lot lizards – some more brazen than others. The cops try to keep them out; the truck stop managers try to keep them out (if they’re not getting a cut of the action); but they’re always around. If you don’t mind going home with the gift that keeps on giving (an STD or worse) they could be an option. I guess I’m just too much of a chicken-shit.



Sunday, October 15, 2006

Go %*#@ Yourself

Barbara and I went to see George Carlin Thursday night at the Thomas Wolfe Auditorium here in Asheville. He’s still funny; he’s still irreverent; he’s still nasty as hell; but God is he getting old.

We saw him in the early 70’s at a big old theater in New Brunswick, NJ. That’s when his signature routine was “The Seven Words You Can’t Say on TV.” I think I remember all 7 of them, but now they can all be heard nightly on cable pay stations. Hell, regular cable stations like FX broadcast many of them.

That’s when Carlin would pace the stage like a caged tiger – back and forth from wing to wing - cussing and ranting. He still rants and cusses, mainly about the same subjects – religion and the government. But now, instead of pacing, he stands beside a table and reads from notes that are stacked on it. Much of the time it seems like he’s reading his jokes for the first time.

He reminded me of the new reporters on WLOS. You know they’re reading from a tele-prompter, but it’s like they’ve never seen the words before.

Before he came onstage, a disembodied voice announced that three new T-shirts were on sale in the lobby. One was covered in over 200 obscenities, one proclaimed “Jesus is Coming – Look Busy” and the third read “Simon Says Go Fuck Yourself.” Classic Carlin.

But I must say that I enjoyed the show. The presentation may have been lacking, but the material is still current and hilarious.

Carlin is a classic.



Thursday, October 12, 2006

Forgive Me, Father

I know – it’s been almost a month since my last post. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned by omission. To be honest, I just haven’t felt like it.

I have finished another short story in the Ron Gabriel series – that makes 3 now – but nothing has really caught my fancy in the way of postings. So here’s a little catch-up on what’s been happening.

The one-year contract with my literary agent expired at the beginning of October. A full year and the fucking book was not picked up by a publisher. Shit! I e-mailed him yesterday and asked, “What now?” The answer was, “You’re free to find another agent – good luck.” Thanks for nothin’, Lantz.

The holes in my head are healing. The stitches came out yesterday, but my forehead still looks like someone has been poking me with large nail. Yeah, it’s really attractive. Every so often I can feel something above my left eye. When I check in the mirror I see that a slightly yellowish-brown fluid is oozing out of the holes and running down my face. Probably my brains leaking out. Cool.

And now we have a new pet. Barbara came in from running errands the other day and I noticed a leaf in her hair. When I brushed it off her head it stuck to my hand, then started moving. Not a leaf, but a brightly colored spider. It’s been hanging around, literally, since then.

It has a beautiful red head with that color continuing ¾ of the way down its legs. From there, the legs are bands of black and white. Behind its head, the body is yellow and black in a geometric block pattern with a yellow arrow pointing forward. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. It looks like it should be in the Amazon rain forest, not the mountains of Western North Carolina. I’m attempting to post a picture of it here, but so far no luck.

If I don’t publish any more posts you’ll know it was deadly and got to us in our sleep.

Later (hopefully),