Some Guys Shouldn't Ad Lib

The TV was on as I worked today, so I wasn't watching it carefully, but I know that golf was on and an interview featured some golfer talking about his game. He said, "I'm aware of my weaknesses and I'm trying to make them stronger." Wouldn't we all like stronger weaknesses?

Stooged Again

Yesterday I felt the urge to visit the same Three Stooges slot machine I'd dreamed about (and won on) some months ago. To make a long story short, I hit four bonuses in about 20 spins and walked out after five minutes with $135.85 in my pocket.

Last night I finished AMERICAN DETECTIVE, by Loren Estleman. This is his 19th Amos Walker book and involves a retired Hall-of-Fame Tigers pitcher who wants Walker to offer his daughter's prospctive husband a bribe to take a hike. The young woman is about to come into a trust fund and her father thinks the fiance is ony interested in the money.
Before long there's a murder and Walker is bumping heads with powerful crime lords and gruff cops. Estleman's side-of-the-mouth dialogue is a joy to read, even if the plot has more twists than a Chubby Checker album. Although a private eye in the classic sense, Walker tries to make a concession to modern times by carrying a cell phone. The experience proves more trouble than it's worth. Back to deskbound blowers and shadowy tails.
I've always thought of the Amos Walker books as the closest heir to Chandler around, and this does nothing to change that idea.

Quick Quip

It occurs to me that many days I don't have a lot to say, but I have a stray thought or two that might be grist for the blog mill.

So today I'm watching a commercial for L.A. Weight Loss. A rather attractive blonde, standing in that "after" pose, is offering a testimonial about the efficacy of this system. She continues that since she is now so attractive and energetic she and her husband can step out and do things--like go to dinner.

Hey, isn't it all that dining out that chunked you up in the first place, Mimsy?

(more)

In a commercial for one of those godawful schools that teach young innocents to be dental assistants or fashion designers, a cute little airhead is listing her reasons for not attending a regular college. Among them: she wouldn't know anybody and would feel intimidated about speaking up.

What? Is she planning to attend Matchbook University with a coterie of friends? Is she anticipating asking foolish questions in a real college?

Just a thought. Okay, two thoughts.

BRAIN TO FINGERS, BRAIN TO FINGERS

On my previous post I typoed the word "cavalry." The irony of this is that I've corrected scores of people on eBay for misspelling that word. Usually they spell it calvary, which is a legitimate word, but has nothing to do with mounted soldiers. I saw so many different misspellings of cavalry on eBay I started keeping a list. To date I have 17 variants, all incorrect. One or two might be typos, as mine was, but usually they're just the products of people who can't spell the word and don't want to look it up.

Also, I'm a terrible typist. I never learned to touch type, and my two-finger method is quick but sloppy. I have a feeling it'll only get worse as I achieve my dotage. Sorry.

IT WAS 131 YEARS AGO TODAY

June 25, 1876, is the day Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer perished along with some 210 men of Companies C, E, F, I, and L on the hills above the Little Big Horn River. Another 50 to 60 men died with Major Reno and Captain Benteen on Reno Hill, about four miles away. That battle has generated more debate, books, movies, and emotions than any other in U.S. history--perhaps world history, as well. Exactly what happened, and when, and for how long has fed speculations from armchair generals young and old, pro and con, and at all points of the compass. Was Custer an heroic figure who perished trying to enforce a policy set forward by greedy, unscrupulous politicians? If so, he wouldn't be the first. Or was he a glory-seeker trying to recapture some of the fame he'd enjoyed as a Civil War hero? Everyone has his own opinion and it's not my desire to either change or reinforce what you think. I do want to pay my respects to thoe who fought and died that day, on both sides. And so I do. "Garryowen in Glory!" "Hoka hey!"

There a couple of myths about that day I'd like to clear up. First off, it wasn't a massacre. The soldiers died in battle. Second, the 7th Cavalry wasn't destroyed. Of the 1250 officers and men authorized to fill the ranks of the 7th, about 260 died. The regiment was brought up to strength and has lasted in one form or another until this day. Custer did not kill himself. Nor was he killed by Rain-In-The-Face and have his heart cut out (RITF probably mutilated Tom Custer, George's brother). Sitting Bull did not participate in the fight. No white man survived the battle who fought with Custer's five troops. A recent article in WILD WEST says there was one, but it's buncombe.

Speaking of those who fought and died, my Uncle Gene passed away yesterday after a long bout of Parkinson's Disease. He was a WWII vet and worked for Uncle Sam for many years. This marks the end of an era in many ways. While my mother and her sisters are still alive, all the men from that generation (my father and uncles) are gone. A daunting prospect, to be sure, and the realization that one day I'll be one of the oldest family members bums me out a bit.

Catching Up is Hard to Do

Since my last visit here I've spent three weeks in Charleston, South Carolina, bought my younger daughter a car, and got the local paper to agree to do a story on my book.

Charleston was hot, the school I attended fairly easy, and the tourist attractions interesting. I didn't know, for example, that rice was a major cash crop in the Charleston area before the Civil War. However, it was such a rotten job to keep the paddies up that they couldn't get anyone to work them once the slaves were freed, so the industry died.

As a result of the school I'm qualified (pending a certification review) to be a ground loadmaster. That means I can do most of the jobs a regular Air Force loadmaster does. I was already qualified for some of them, but this class expands the envelope. What it doesn't expand is my paycheck. A letter to my congressman will address this issue forthwith. When some of us mentioned to the guy that started this APEX (Aerial Port Expeditor) program his response was, "Just be glad you've got a job." Hell, I was glad to have a job before they added more responsibility to it. And who the hell does he think he is, some coal mine owner in 1890? What an arrogant ass.

OJ skated, Bobby Blake may have skated, and Christian Brando got off easy, but Paris Hilton is doing hard time in the Crossbar Hilton and I can't help feel a sense of satisfaction. If I'd never heard of this vapid, self-centered, no-talent brat I wouldn't have cared about her at all, but the way she and the media have conspired to shove her useless life down our throats has made me wish she would simply dry up and bust. That goes for all those other celebrity media whores out there. Who needs them?

And remember my 2008 Presidential Slogan: ANYONE BUT HITLERY!

Another Thumb Up

Noted critic Jon Breen has this to say about LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN in the May 2007 issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine:

"Jack Lorentz, a Tacoma-based collectible toy dealer, is asked by an old lover to look into a mysterious death on the property of her husband's wealthy and influential family. The first novel from the longtime fanzine editor known as Cap'n Bob is a commendable job, including surprising variations on familiar hardboiled elements: the rocky romance, the dysfunctional rich, and the hero's loyal but somewhat unstable sidekick."

Now, if just 1% of EQMM's readers buy the book, I'll be happy as a clam.

I wonder when that element Jon refers to as the sidekick actually started. I'm guessing Robert B. Parker's Hawk was the first of any consequence, although I'm just pulling this off the top of my head. But Mike Hammer, Mike Shayne, Dan Turner, Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, etc. were loners. Nowadays it's more common (think Coben's, Burke's, and Lehane's books for starters) for the hero to have an ally/friend who's basically a homicidal maniac. Waldo, the sidekick in my novel, isn't like that, and I should point out that I started this book a long time ago, before any of the others I mentioned hit the scene.

On another note, I have my first signing lined up. I hope everyone who can be in Seattle on St. Paddy's Day, March 17, will drop by the Seattle Mystery Bookshop (117 Cherry St.) and say hey.

Honest, Or Just Plain Stupid?

A little earlier I went to get some cash from an ATM. A woman was already there ahead of me. She suddenly turned and walked off; as I stepped up to the machine I saw it was still in use. The screen asked if I wanted another transaction. I hit NO, grabbed the receipt and card as they ejected and yelled for the lady to come back and get them.

Then it hit me. The card was in, the pin number activated, and the account there for the robbing. Not that I'm a thief, but I'd like to have had a chance to mull it over before I take the high road. Maybe I could have pinched, say, $100, taken it to the casino, and shared the winnings with her if I had any. Nah. It has been my curse in life to be pretty honest about such things. Were I not so I might be rich.

Great Anti-Cult Video

Don't hesitate, check out this great slam on the Scientology Organized Crime Family. Here's the address: //www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GmCa6hqpVQ

And You Thought MLK Could Dream

Last night I had a dream. In it I went to the Emerald Queen casino, sat at the middle slot machine in the row of Three Stooges machines, and made a high bet.

So today, since I was out and about and passing the casino on my way home, I dropped in. At first I played a Lobsterfest machine, which didn't do well at all. I moved to the one next to it and won some of my money back. I then decided to follow my dream and hit the Three Stooges slots. The row has an even number of slots so there's no real middle one, and there was a lady at one of the middle ones, so I played the one on the end. I broke even for a while, and then started to lose, so I went over and sat beside the lady, at what would count as a middle machine. About six spins into it, and playing 36 nickels a pop, I hit sevens all the way across and won $100. After three or four more spins to see if there was any magic left in the machine I cashed out and went home. Grubstake: $60. Cashout: $116.65. Not a fortune, but it bought me some gas and lunch and left me with a few bucks to play with.

I hope I have a dream like that again.

Rebecca Bunny, R.I.P.

About ten years ago I bought Kristine a bunny for Easter. She named it Rebecca. For a number of years I kept the bunny in my office, but there was a sanitation problem that caused me to finally put her hutch outside. I was afraid the winter weather might do her in, but she did fine. In the summer we'd put her in a pen in the yard on sunny days, and sometimes we'd let her in the house, as we did during a recent spate of cold weather. If you want to know what it's like to stroke a heavenly cloud, pet a bunny some day.

Yesterday the bunny was listless, and today when I came home I found her dead. Not really a surprise, but a sad thing to bear nevertheless. I hope she was happy here, just as we were happy to have her as part of our family for so many years.

Two smaller disappointments rounded the day off. I learned that I won't get my new, sportier glasses in time for Left Coast Crime, and the library on the Air Force base where I work has no funds and can't buy any new books, including mine.

The good news is that I wasn't nominated for Civilian of the Quarter for our squadron. Every single nominee from the old six-two lost, including the military people.

The Holiday For Primates Everywhere

Free At Last, Free At Last...

On this day in 1969 I walked out of the gate of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, New York, with my Army discharge papers in hand. What a glorious day for me. I didn't mind the Army for most of my hitch, but the last few months were terrible and fraught with trouble. When I applied for a hardship discharge in September of 1968 it was approved in two weeks. It took almost four months for the actual discharge to happen.

Oddly enough, I recently made contact with a guy who was the company clerk of my outfit in Nam, the 595th Engineers. To backtrack a bit, I was in Nam when I was notified there had been a death in the family. I went back to the states, applied for a hardship discharge, and was attached to the HQ COmpany at West Point. The people in that unit did a lot of idiot jobs on the post: worked the rifle range, drove brass around, and clerked in various offices. Not exactly a front line fighting outfit. I was there with about five other strays and we were given a series of lowly jobs which we screwed up as often as possible. Eventually we were called The Outlaws. None of us gave a damn about the Army by then.
Now, 38 years later, I discover that the reason my discharge took so long was that the people in charge of our 201 files--without which nothing administrative can be done--lost them. Not just mine, but the files for a whole battalion. Guys whose rotations were up were held over in Nam because their files were lost. There was a huge dust up, the Inspector General started an investigation, and when the files were eventually found in a mismarked conex the personnel officer was court martialed. None of which made my life any easier during that long, long time I waited to return to civilianhood and get my life going again. And of coutse Uncle Sam can't compensate me for messing up my plans and putting me through a couple or three months of agony, but after all this time I know the reason for that unconscionable delay.
I hope they shot that damn personnel officer.

Back From the Forest

Back from Tankon. I returned to civilization on the 31st, as indifferent to New Year's Eve as possible. I've always thought it was a pretty stupid holiday. Anyway, Tankon was mostly good. The isolation, the fellowship, even the friendly arguments are fun. This year I was put off by a non-regular who showed up for two days, talked non-stop about how wonderful he is, and left. Never again, I vowed.
That aside, it was fun to see the dusting of snow on the first morning, to plunk at cans with my Daisy BB gun (I'm a hell of a shot, BTW), watch 10 movies and two cartoon series, read two books, eat, sleep, write, and leave the world behind. While we were there two ex-leaders died--Saddam and Gerry Ford--and because one of them died I got the day off today. A nice perk if you're a federal employee.
Thanks again, fellows, and especially to our gracious host, Frank Denton.

Earlier today I had the idea of doing a Net search for my old Army outfit (at least the one I was with the longest), the 595th Engineer Company (LE). I found an old e-mail from a Joseph Short. Hmmm, Joe Short. That name rang a bell. Later on the bell clanged loudly. A picture of Joe Short came into my head and then I remembered him well. Not that we hung around a lot, but we worked close by when he was company clerk at one end of a tent and I was operations clerk at the other end. He was coming in a few months before I faded out or we would have spent more time together, I'm sure. For one thing, all of us support guys were in one hooch.
Anyway, I e-mailed Joe and he e-mailed back saying he remembered me plus a few others I named. He also told me about LE (pronounced Lee--the LE in our outfit's name stands for Light Equipment, even though we had heavy equipment like dozers, scrapers, graders, dump trucks, etc). LE was a mule and our outfit's mascot. He lived on a patch of earth across the road from our tent and was tethered to a stake by a 50-foot rope so he could graze. He was the meanest jackass you could ask for. I have some 8mm movie footage of him chasing the sergeant who fed him. I also recall that LE was promoted to E-4 ahead of me. In '68 he was shipped back to the US. Joe told me LE died last year at Fort Riley, Kansas. He must have been about 40 years old. I hope his transition to stateside duty improved his disposition.

Tomorrow I return to work after nine days off. Luckily it's my normal Friday so I only have to work one day before my weekend rolls around again. Then it's time to settle down and get some real work done.

Tankon Beckons

In a few hours I'll be off to the wilds below Mt. Rainier for the semi-annual gathering called Tankon. Just me and four other curmudgeons at a remote cabin with every amenity but running water. Sloth and eating are the main entertainments, with reading, movie viewing, and chatting/arguing following close behind. I also plan to bring my laptop and write a bit.

Festivus was fine. I spent Festivus Eve in the dark and rain, holding a flashlight while Darryl changed the alternator on his van. Festivus morning I was awakened from a deep, restful sleep by Kristine, who couldn't wait another minute to open her presents. I got some nice presents and one really great one: a Daisy BB gun. I've wanted one since I was a kid, but my mother was one of those You'll Put Your Eye Out wet blankets, so I never had this rite-of-passage weapon. Luckily, some friends did and I shot up scores of non-refundable bottles one summer.
Later that day I went to my other daughter's house for some more presents and a good pot roast dinner. My girl, Stephanie, has been working so much at Taco Bell (Our Motto: Each Worker a Peon) she fell asleep after the presents were exchanged, so we went back home and declared it a good Festivus all around. I have three gift cards to use: $15 at Target, $30 at Home Depot, and $100 at Wilson's House of Suede and Whips.

Just in Time for Festivus

Don't delay, my well-hyped novel LOVE, DEATH AND THE TOYMAN is now on sale. The regular retail price is $25.95 but you can save a few pennies at places like Amazon or Overstock.com. Or you can go to Limehouse Books and pay a mere $54.16 for a copy. Holy Hypermoderns, Batman! What's that guy thinking?

There's even a copy in the main branch of the Tacoma Public Library. No, they didn't religion all of a sudden. One of my shills asked them to stock a copy.

Yesterday Amazon had one copy in stock. Today they have two. Hurry before they have dozens.

As I type this there are promos on TV for an interview Katie Couric did or will do with the wife of one of the men who died climbing Mt. Hood in Oregon.
Now, I'm very sorry these men died and I feel for their families, but I can't help but also feel that they're all a bunch of damn fools for leaving the relative safety of flat land to climb a dangerous mountain during the winter, especially when the weather recently has been horrible. These were totally avoidable deaths and the dead men would have been wise to think first of their families before risking their lives on a foolish venture.

K-Mart, K-Mart, Spare That Tree

The other day I went to K-Mart to buy a DVD for Kristine's birthday. That's all I bought, one DVD. I ran across the receipt a few minutes ago and was stunned. It was 19 3/4 inches long. Naturally, most of it was advertising for their wares or discount promises if one took advantage of, say, a one-day special on certain toys or jewelry.

I hate going to that store anyway, but getting a sales tag long enough to make a necktie kind of jerks my chain. Perhaps if I was a logger I'd feel different.

Tacoma's Libraries, Part 2

I happened to be downtown today and stopped into the Tacoma Library's main branch to see if they'd order my novel. At first I didn't say who I was and they thought I was just some patron trying to get the book. I finally told them I was not interested in reading it, but just checking to see if they had ordered it or indeed would order it.
That's when the bureaucracy started:
"We rely on reviews (LJ, PW, KKK)." I said I have had five published reviews and all were positive but one (asshole at KKKirkus).
"We don't buy just because an author is local." Well thanks for supporting Tacoma's arts, cousin.
And on and on about procedures and policies. It's like I stuck a quarter in a jukebox and got a recording of the Kiwanas' by-laws.

The Multnomah, Oregon, library system already has eight copies of my book on order, sight unseen, but my wonderful home city acts like I'm trying to get them to spread a disease. I was right the first time. The Tacoma Library System stinks on ice.

BTW, that last positive review came from the one and only Harriet Klausner. Or maybe she's the four and only. Rumors abound that she's the front for a reviewing factory. Whatever the case, she liked it. Frankly, I'm surprised. Pleased, but surprised. I didn't think she'd like a book like this.

Happy Birthday

Today is my baby's 16th birthday. Happy Birthday, Kristine. It's been nothing but great.

Also, this is the anniversary of the birth of George Armstrong Custer. He's 167.

Something Went Wrong

Well, I tried to give the Puyallups some of my birthday money but something went wrong. I ended up winning $45.11. Not a fortune, but as long as I walk out on the plus side I'm happy.

Getting back to the library rant, I posted a milder version of it on DorothyL several weeks back. I heard some very kind and understanding comments defending librarians and libraries, most of which said that it cost libraries processing fees even if they get a book or books for free. All well and good, but my library was willing to take the books as donations, so the fees can't have been a consideration.
Let me state for the record that I have no grief with librarians. It's the administrators and the idiotic bureaucratic rules that rankle me.