swimming with Sharks

good size jellyfish.  kinda flattened out.

Our Neighbor Wendy caught this good size sting ray.  Wendy is holding the fish pole.

pretty girl, ugly porcupine puffer fish

Swimming in Myrtle Beach.

Why would anyone swim in the ocean?

Oh! now I remember.

or not!!!

Aggravating Agatha

"Run, Agatha, Run!

"THE PROBLEM:"

I have this talkative neighbor, Agatha, who seems to be the world foremost authority. You name the subject, she has the truth....not an opinion, The TRUTH!!!
Oh, there is one exception.  She does not own a computer.  She refuses to own one.  Google is not in her vocabulary.  The only windows operating system she is aware of is made by Anderson. Apple Macintosh is only a tasty fruit to her.  To Agatha, IBM means impending bowel movement.

If I was forced to give her a political affiliation, I would label her somewhat to the right of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck.
She yearns for days of the past. The twentieth century?....No!  Perhaps somewhere between the eleventh and nineteenth century would suit her fine. That is our Agatha.

We used to see her on the beach everyday.  We would try to engage her in normal conversation.  She will talk like a normal person for a while.  At some point in our dialogue her eyes would start twitching, her lips would start trembling, her pupils begin dilating then glaze over and perhaps roll into the back of her head. She groaned, shook her head.
My wife, (the little French Lady) and I were wondering if she as going to faint or she was having some kind of mystical sexual experience.  We were hoping for the latter.

Then she looked at us with total clarity and said, "Did you watch Rush Limbaugh today? He says congress should impeach Obama.  I think he is right.  Glen Beck thinks so too.
Everything that has happen since 1988 is Obama fault.  Our country is being run by a black foreigner.  He is letting "the blacks" take over the country.  The blacks...blah..blah. blah..blah Obama blah blah blah blah "the blacks"....blah..blah..blah?"
Spittle and drool roll down her face.

"Agatha, I have to go take a dump now, if you will excuse me." We walk way very fast.

"Whew,  I thought we would never get away.  Did you see that? She went into an altered state of consciousness. It was like she was transported to Limbaughland." the little french lady mused.
"Maybe she is one of those Tea peer's." the wife said thoughtfully. "One of those folks who drink Tea and pees a lot and complains about it?" I queried.
"Yeah...those."

After that we tried to avoid her.  If we saw her wandering on the beach and she was heading towards us, I would ask my wife, "How far can you swim underwater?" The usual answer was, "not far enough."
We had a problem. We needed a solution.

THE SOLUTION: Sometimes the solution just in front of you don't realize it immediately.
I was watching the news recently and President Obama was visiting Ireland.  It seems that his mother had Irish ancestry.  Interesting information.  I could be related to him since I am also since 3 out of 4 of my grandparents were Irish.  It is a small country.

Hmmm...wait a minute.  
I could tell Agatha that he is related to me.  I will have to make a history, a cover, just like a CIA agent....
I am his cousin..twice removed, whatever that means.  This could work.  Let's see what going to happen.

THE EXECUTION:  
I prepare my documentation (a photoshopped picture of Obama and me talking in the oval office) and  commence to strolling and trolling the beach.  I know it is a matter of time. This is like fishing.
On the third day of trolling strolling the beach Agatha spots us. She waves at us and we casually feign disinterest.  I flick my wrist casually towards her.  She is waving. I look at the little French lady and she shrugs and we keep walking away from her.

Now Ag is waving frantically with both hands and running towards us.  We are walking away from her but not very fast.  She finally catches up with us.
She is winded, but she runs pretty well for a 79 year old person with a heart condition.

"Oh...Hi Agatha.  When did you start jogging?  You have to be careful at your age. but I think it is wonderful that you are concerned about your health and have started jogging."
"I didn't think it was very healthy for you to fall asleep on the beach like you did yesterday."
"Carry on, don't let us stop you."

"Wait!!!...(gasp...huff) I not jogging.  I am trying (heavy breathing) to catch up with you and I wasn't sleeping on the beach yesterday.  I fainted while trying to catch up to you."

"Oh!...? So what's up?"
Agatha's lips started quivering, her right eye started twitching, the eyes..they dilated, her face became flush. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, apparently retrieving some bit of arcane Rush Limbaugh data from her memory bank.  She gasped, moaned, shook her head, then smiled.

"Did you hear what Obama did?"
She broke into a giggle now.
"Cousin Barry? what has he done now?" was my snappy rejoinder.

"Barry? who's Barry? I'm talking about Obama."
"Barry O'Bama.  That's what family calls him." I stated casually.
"No, No! I am talking about Barack Obama, that bad black president."
"Yeah, we're talking about the same guy.  My cousin Barry O'Bama, the President. The white Republicans are giving him a hard time. That guy."
"Some of you "whites" don't seem to like him."

I pause for effect.  It is time to set the hook.

"power to people. now let's have a stout and a potato."

"He's Irish, You know."

Now, I can see Agatha's mind spinning.
"He's black..."
"...Yeahhhh!...What's your point? Haven't you heard of Black Irish? Google it.
Oh, I'm sorry you can't, can you?"

I feigned pent up anger.
"Are you one of those colonialist who exploited our homeland? You white people!!! (said with righteous indignation)
"You whites are always doing that kinda crap. You made life hell for us black Irish during the potato famine, Agatha, Do you ever aks yourself if this is right?"
"You do?....You lie!!!!"

Agatha is slowly backing up.  she is nervous. I am jabbering incoherently. Spittle is flying from my lips. I am extolling the virtues of being Irish and black and how this knowledge has improved my basketball dribbling skills and the drinking of the beer afterwards.  she now is running.
"She's pretty fast for a 79 year old white woman with a folding chair and a backpack on her back."
I think I had her at "aks". The little french lady nodded. "Oui!"

"Have a lovely jog, Agatha!!!!"

Stuart Woods to the rescue....not!!!!

Writer's block?

Prologue: Stuart Woods is a world famous writer of mystery novels.  He wrote the book "Chiefs" which was made into a television miniseries.  He has written over 40 books.

He is a nifty guy.

I am a blogger.  I had writers block, of a sort.  I figured Stuart could help me.  I emailed him.  My email is below.

Greetings Stuart,

Help me!

I am a blogger.  I have created a character named Colt Brandisher.  I have developed a life for him.  He has a car. (1957 Citroen)  a girl friend, (Candida Goldblatt), a job, (city defective....detective.) and friends.  I have blogged my writing process.

After much introspection and thoughtI have modeled Colt after your character, Stone Barrington.

I had considered John Sandford’s character Lucas Davenport, however Colt was not too keen on spending time in Minneapolis, eating at Subway, and reassembling frozen corpses that went through a stump shredder.  He did like the idea of the Porsche but I told him Stone had a Mercedes Benz.  I also mentioned that Lucas had serious mental problems.  He suffers from depression and is afraid of flying, whereas Stone Barrington doesn’t seem to have a care in the world and lives in nice places like New York, Washington, Connecticut and frequents Palm Beach and Key West.

I believe you have enough background information.  Here is my problem.

I started writing a story on one of my blogs. I seem to have painted myself into a proverbial corner.

It seems that Colt will die in the first paragraph.

:

“Colt heard the cacophonous sounds of tree frogs croaking their maudlin symphony as the leaden projectile zoomed towards his head. Ironic, he thought. he would be croaking very shortly also. The high functioning brain that currently had the appearance of freshly cooked cauliflower would soon resemble half cooked turnip, perhaps mash potatoes, but certainly not cauliflower.

Colt thought of frogs. He liked frog legs. He would not have a chance to eat them again.

In fact, they would probably be feasting on his legs very soon.

"What!!!!...why am I thinking about food? I am milliseconds from death."

They say your life passes in front of you when death is imminent. Colt's life did pass in front of him. It was a boring life. He had some time left so he started thinking about food.”

Stuart, Do you see my problem? Help me!!

Now I want to talk a bit about Stone Barrington.  

He seems to take way too many naps. perhaps he should consider sleeping at night, if you catch my drift.

It seems no woman can get close to him without dropping her knickers, which makes me wonder, “What kind of aftershave is this guy using?”

Stuart,......This guy is a slut.  

Does he use protection?  He already has one unplanned love child. It is miraculous this guy doesn’t have herpes.  Stone better step up.  Right now he is acting like a democrat politician.  The difference is: a democratic politician can’t keep their pants zipped up and the Republicans can’t keep their mouth zipped up.

Well, I hope you can help me save Colt.  He is such a nice guy.  I don’t want him cut down in his prime.  

If we can get this issue resolved we will meet in Delano, Georgia at your place.  We will invite Lucas Davenport.   we will have one of Stone’s female friend can cook us up some steaks, served with a bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam. (Colt will bring it with him) and then we will repair to the study and drink brandy and smoke cigars. 

Colt will pass on the cigars. He doesn’t smoke. However if your cook will bake some cannibas brownies Colt would be glad to partake of the brownies.  He has glaucoma.

This would be considered medicine in many states.

Perhaps It would be wise to serve some peperoni with that.  A few hundred slices, a couple boxes of ritz crackers (fat free)  and a few pounds of Cabot cheese.  Maybe a few litres of Pepsi or Coke. 

We will celebrates Colts resurrection.

Thanks Stuart.

PS: I live in SC.  I was going to Georgia for a photo layout of “The Girls of Delano” for Playboy magazine.  I have read about their beauty in your books.  I couldn’t find the girls.  I couldn’t find Delano.

I think we should meet somewhere and discuss this.  How about Elaine’s? Late?

Epilogue: Stuart answered me within an hour on his iphone. His reply was, "You got yourself into this; get yourself out."

At first I was crushed that he didn't help me.  I thought about this for a few minutes and realized That was the answer.  He really did give me the answer.  I will get myself out of this. Thanks,Stuart!!!

Ironically, nobody will be going to Elaine's in New York City.  Elaine Kaufman died in December 2010 and it closed in late May 2011. One of Stuart Woods favorite spots. It is an end of an era.

SCAMPI:The review: Not a four star restaurant.

                             

 I am committed to good food.

My wife (the little French Lady) and myself have become addicted to Geocaching.  We have been doing our little adventure of finding Tupperware in the woods using million dollar satellites for about 6 months.   We are getting further from home, looking for caches.

Last weekend we were about 30 miles from home.  The day was winding down and we were getting hungry. Enough geocaching for one day.  We should get something to eat. We were famished.  We weren't too familiar with the area so we just drove around looking for a place to eat.  We were not interested in Burger King or Kentucky Fried Chicken.

We finally saw a place that sounded pretty interesting.  It was called SCAMPI.   I like Italian food, and so does my wife.  We pulled into the parking lot; it was a huge parking lot. Good sign.  I must say the building was quite impressive also.

As we walked through the parking lot we noticed a security guard walking about. Another good sign.

We were met at the door by a very distinguished gentleman.  He was obviously the maitre'd of SCAMPI. We were greeted.
"Good evening, My name is Sigmund and you are....?"
"Jonathan Hemlock."
"... and she is?" "Ms Hemlock."

Sigmund walked over to his computer and I saw him type my name into google. His eyebrows raised and mumbled something like, "I thought he would be taller."
I took this to be a good sign.
"Ah, Mr. Hemlock! Welcome."
"We would like to be seated near a window . Preferably in a booth"
"I'm sorry we do not have any windows or booths, Mr. Hemlock."
"Whatever.  We will have the special."
"Fine. Mr. Capote will bring it to you."

This guy had a real large attitude problem.  He wanted to be called Truman. He thinks he is a president or something.  He acted very gay.  A gay president. What next?

As we waited for our food a couple of gentlemen joined us at our table.  They were introduced as Mr. Harry Callahan and Mr. Walter Kowalski.  These guys also had a surly attitude, yet I felt strangely comfortable with them.  We introduced ourselves.  Their attitude brightened when I told them my name.

"Hemlock?...huh, I've heard of you." Callahan queried.  "What are you doing here?" "Geocaching." I answered.
Callahan and Kowalski just looked at each other and shrugged.
Our food finally showed up.  It wasn't scampi.  It was Shepard's Pie.
"Truman, you gave us the wrong meal."
Truman's attitude became condescending and huffy.

Harry stood up. "I've had trouble with this guy, too. I think he stole my bread stick."
He grabbed Truman by the lapels and said, "I know what you're thinking, punk! Did he have five breadsticks or six? Well, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being these are Olive Garden Bread Sticks, the most tasty breadsticks in the world, and would clearly satisfy anybody's appetite, you have to ask yourself one question. Do you feel hungry, punk?...Well, do ya?....?"
"Do you have anything to add to that, Kowalski?"
"Ummm...No...just stay off my lawn."
"Check please!!!"  Harry and Walt were getting a little cranky.

We told Sigmund that we received the wrong food.  He told us to sign the release and there would be no charge.  We signed.

"Bernard will show you to your room."  Bernard was a wiry little guy.
"You can call me Barney. Everyone does. Hey, would you like to hear me recite the Preamble to the constitution?....We.... We?"
"Nip it, Barney. We are not staying here tonight."
Sure you are.  You just signed yourself into SCAMPI."
"We just came here for the food. We didn't even get our scampi."
"Well, there's your problem right there. Sigmund we have a problem."
Sigmund reappeared.  Bernard explained. Whispering and nodding. "Aha!!!"
The situation was explained to us.

RECAP: All the things we thought were a good sign, were bad signs.  We were just told that we have signed ourselves into SCAMPI: the South Carolina Asylum for the Media Programming Indoctrinated.  We thought we were in an Italian Bistro, but it was really a mental asylum for people who have watched too many movies, too much television, read too many books and lost their identity.   
We probably would not have gotten into SCAMPI if I had used my real name.  I used my blogging name and Geocaching name.  This usually is not a problem.  However when Sigmund (Freud) googled me, my name came up as a fictional character... Jonathan Hemlock, a character in the movie Eiger Sanction, played by Clint Eastwood.


When we sat at our table we were seated with Mr. Callahan (Dirty Harry!!) and Mr. Walter Kowalski (Grand Torino). Both were characters in Clint Eastwood movies.  This is why I felt comfortable with these guys. What could be more natural?


So there was a little misunderstanding.  Our friends are horrified with what has happened to us.  We will be here for at least the next 45 days.

I will bring some ice cold
Silver Bullet beer, guys.
If I get drunk enough I
will give you a peek under my
mask.

They are trying to get us released. I told them to mind their own business. 

"Your deal, Hemlock!"

I am enjoying playing pinochle with Johnny Carson, Adolph Hitler and the Lone Ranger tonight.
I hope I don't get Hitler as a partner again.
My wife is having a nice French meal with Charles De Gaulle and Napoleon. Ahhh... Home cooking.  
Bring me back some cretons.  The guys will love it.

I'm a Deather. I have found my calling.

Navy Seals(camoed) Great job, guys!!!!

I am feeling abject and despicable shame.  The local delegate from the Republican party has just left our house. He gave me the Republican IQ test.

I am considered an imbecile due to my chosen political affiliation. This is humiliating. I did not get one answer correct.  I even signed my named incorrectly on my test paper.  I signed it on the left side.  I should have signed it on the right, which indicated that I have leftist tendencies.

The local delegate harangued and browbeated me for about an hour. Before he left he gave me a copy of his book which he called "My Struggle".

So, I am studying "My Struggle" and taking copious notes.
My wife hollers, "Hey, They just killed Osama Bin Laden."
"Who killed him?"  I queried, "A bunch of Seals" the answer.
"Wow, did the seals slap him to death with their little flippers?  I would have thought he would be inland instead of on the ocean. I didn't know there was much coast line in  Afghanistan."
"It was Navy Seals and it was in Pakistan."
"Oh good! chock one up for our side. Where's the body? When are they going to show it? Are you going to the funeral or wake?"
"No funeral, no wake, no body." was the little French ladie's reply.
"WHAT?".....Here we go again. They buried him at sea.......Right!!!!
Not happening. I have to see a death certificate, a mangled corpse, a crying widow or widows in his case, DNA.
Rush Limbaugh will want to know.

Has the American public been punk'd by the government again???

Here's a few examples:

• (The Moonwalk tapes) This is the original Apollo 11 hoax. The Moonwalk tapes were actually done at Universal studios' back lot.  In moonwalk, take 3, You can hear Neal Armstrong say, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for me. oops....I just stepped in dog poop. I told them not to use the Lassie sound stage." ....... "CUT!...CUT!!..Wrong again, Neal. It is for mankind, not you.  Are we going to have to call Tom Hanks for this scene...Take 4."

• (The Agnew proposal)  The original Apollo 11 hoax worked so well that Vice President Spiro Agnew proposed at a cabinet meeting that the next astronauts land on the sun.  He was guffawed out of the meeting.  He was told that the astronauts would burn to a crisp on the sun.  It is too hot.  A couple minutes later he stuck his head back into the meeting and said, "We could do it at night." Nixon took this under consideration and appointed a task force to investigate this possibility.  Nixon resigned before it could happen. 

• (FDR, the marathoner) You never saw FDR walking, and there was a good reason for this.  He couldn't walk.  The government did a wonderful job covering up this fact.  I did not realize that FDR could not walk until I was a teenager. Today they would photoshop him, they would have him running the Boston Marathon, playing tennis, playing touch football, and playing 18 holes of golf. You would never see him in a wheel chair.  This would be bad PR.  The president of the US in a wheelchair? This would be deemed as weakness.  So the American public was punk'd back in the 30's and 40's.

No more punking. I want to see Osama's death certificate and Obama's birth certificate.

Which one has the hair on his face?  I am confused.  Well...anyway...ummm, this helped me find my calling.  I am a deather.

A deather is the opposite of a birther.  Prove to me you are dead, show me your death certificate, DNA samples, your corpse,  in person, if possible.

This probably won't be enough but it's a start.

I mean, look how elaborate a scheme Obama had for the presidency.  

Somebody early on in his life said, "Hey, this kid could end up being president of the United States.  Yikes ... let's make him a citizen of some place in the US.  Maybe Hawaii. 

We will have to sneak him out of Kenya."

This was a well thought out plan.  He is actually a Kenyan Muslim who became president because of good, well thought out planning.

Do you think I am buying the "Osama is dead" story? H....E..L...L..O.....!!!!!

Walking on the moon, walking on the sun, FDR running a marathon, Osama dead, Obama an American Citizen, Paris Hilton a Virgin.  How much are we supposed to believe?

I believe what the Republican party tells me to believe. That's what.

Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?.... I do?...Oh...well....

"I AM A DEATHER!!!!"

Smoking!!

cough! cough!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, How bad can it be if Einstein did it and Sherlock Holmes did it? Intelligent and logical, right?

I did it for forty years.  I know about smoking.  It was wonderful.  I really enjoyed chemistry in high school.  Most of the chemicals I dealt with in high school were in the Lucky Strikes I was smoking.

How did it all get started?  It was easy. It all started during my sophomore year of high school.  The "In crowd" would go to a hangout that was just off school property.  I wanted to be part of the "In crowd".
We will call this place "Scottie's" to protect the guilty. This is where I went for lunch.  I had a choice of eating in the school cafeteria, which served awful stuff like  Shepard's Pie,  Lasagna, Beef Stew, Chicken Stew, Baked Tuna Casserole for 15 cents (milk included) or go to Scottie's and have a tasty bag of Wise potato chips and an absolutely delicious bottle  of Pepsi.  A no brainer. I went to Scottie's with the rest of my friends. (Yum..yum!!)

Scottie's was not a big place.  It had 3 or 4 booths, a bench, and about 6 stools.  The place was built to hold about 20 or 25 people max. At lunch time it had about 50.  There were two shifts of about 50 people.  If a fire marshall had walked into the place he would have had a stroke.  Everybody was smoking and putting out their cigarettes on the floor.   It looked like a mosh pit.  The owner had an orange tree in the window.  It gave nicotine flavored oranges.  In this environment I started to smoke, actively and passively.

Cough! cough!

My friend Andy would steal cigarettes from his grandfather, his father, his mother, anyone that had cigarettes.  I would  "bum" cigarettes from him and others after they got me hooked.  One day Andy growled at me, " Why don't you buy your own cigarettes?" Ironic?
He was yet to buy his own first pack.  I pointed out this discrepancy in his logic.  This actually gave him a chuckle.  We decided to split cost so we both could smoke.

When you start out smoking tobacco you tend to experiment a little.  You start to be pretentious. I started smoking a pipe, a nice curved briar pipe.  I purchased some nice smelly pipe tobacco.  The old guys would smoke things like Mechanic's Delight, Half and Half, or Prince Albert, of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can? well let him out" fame.
The younger pipe enthusiasts like myself smoked Borkum Riff, Mixture 79 (or was it formula 44) or other exotic mixtures.
I was very pretentious about the whole thing. I would act like pseudo-intellectuals.
People would ask me a question and I would puff on my briar thoughtfully, not immediately answering their question. I would slowly start to talk, then suddenly stop, take the pipe out of our mouth, look at it, then I would either relight it or clean the pipe.
Then I would say, "Now what was your question?"  But the questioner would be long gone.

I was quite arrogant and boorish.  I would sit on some steps near the school, puffing my briar with a book in my hand.  Maybe it would be War and Peace.  People would walk by and I would say something foolish like, "It's about Russia."  Most of the time people would just mumble some obscenity.

I even tried cigars. A few big stogies, a few rum crooks, a few White Owls. This grew old rather quickly and I went back to cigarettes.

I enjoyed cigarettes for many years.  I loved coffee and a cigarette.  I loved cigarettes when I was drinking beer.  Delicious combinations.  These combos were like...bread and butter, cheese and crackers.  These things were meant for each other. Cigarettes were pervasive in my life and it seemed like it was pervasive in everyone else's life.  At some point it started to control my life.  I realized there was a problem.

My life started to revolve around cigarettes.  Everything else was secondary.  I had to do a cigarette count before I went to bed at night. It was just not an option to wake up and have no cigarettes in my smokey filled life.  Their had to be a plan.  I could not be without access to tobacco.  The thought of running out of cigarettes made me edgy and nervous, almost paranoid. The thought of it would make me perspire profusely.

Then something bad happened.  At least I thought it was bad but it turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me.  I injured myself at work and it would require surgery.  It was a hernia. I would be in and out the same day.
All went well,  I would stay at my parents house for a couple of days and recuperate.  I could still walk. The pain killers had not worn off and I waddled to my sister's house which was very close.  I was having a good old time.  I drank some coffee, ate some fried food, had some more coffee.  I felt like I was ready for a cigarette.  I lit one up.

Five minutes later my sister and brother in law were dragging me up the street to my parents' house in a semiconscious stupor.  I was put in bed and I slept for about 12 straight hours.  That last cigarette got my attention.  I haven't smoked since. I never felt the urge to smoke again.  Strange.

I do tell the people who wish to stop smoking that it isn't one day at a time, it's one urge at a time.
I wish I had never started smoking.  I am glad I stopped.  It was starting to get really tough to find a place to smoke.  I have seen smokers standing out in a field out in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard, not wearing much.  I could picture the headline in my head, "10 SMOKERS LOST DURING BLIZZARD, SEARCHERS START RECOVERY OPERATION."
Well, I guess they died happy.  Clueless but happy.

A reformed smoker is like an insurance salesman, a Mormon missionary, and 3 Jehovah Witnesses, all in one package.  We are the worst. We lecture. We are right.
Do you know what your house smells like?  Do you know what you smell like? Do you know what your lungs look like?  How do you feel about toting around a canister of oxygen? Do you know how much money you would have now if you invested the money you spent on cigarettes into Apple stock in 1990?

The little French Lady is a reformed smoker too.  In Canada they kept cutting down on places she could smoke.  She wouldn't smoke in her new car and she wouldn't smoke in her new condo.  She really couldn't smoke at work.  One day she was standing out in a field near Laval with three other shivering smokers and said to herself, "What to hell am I doing?"  She hasn't smoked since.
Until we quit our attitude was: What is wrong with these non-smokers?  What a rude group. So what if I burned a whole in your rug? Get over it.  We call that collateral damage. Why is your baby coughing? Oh, well.... get him to hell out of the room.  Why can't I smoke in your car?  It has an ashtray, doesn't it? WHAT IS THEIR PROBLEM?

Now that we are reformed smokers, we look at smokers with disdain and contempt. You smell bad. Your car smells bad.  Your breath is like an ashtray.
I will be a better person than you.  I will allow your canister of oxygen in my car.

The New reality? The Portly Pia and other Ramblings.

Ok! I just watched a rerun of American Idol.
Yes, I finally get it.  Pia Tuscano was voted off by 13 year old female cellphone users.  We all know how astute the critical judgement of 13 year old hormonally imbalanced females can be. That is why there are 2 girls and 5 guys left.  I suspect that Haley and Lauren will be next.  I can forgive these teenage girls for being 13 year old teenage girls.  AI is, after all is said and done, a popularity contest.

I know Pia will have a very successful career. Remember Jennifer Hudson?

My problem is with a critic.  I am referring to NY Daily News critic Jim Farber, who referred to Pia as "The burly singer". What?  I had to recheck the meaning of the word "burly".  I thought I knew what it meant.

Burly: (of a person) large and strong, heavily built. Large and thick of build. Stout, robust.

Yes,  I do know what it means.

I don't know which event is more shocking.  Pia getting voted off was flabbergasting but I was really flummoxed when Farber referred to Pia as "burly".
Does he have a television?  I did not see a portly Pia, the chubby chanteuse.  I saw a gorgeous lady.  I believe about 98% of American women would be ecstatic if they looked as good as she did.
So I will assume this critic (Farber) has a working television so he saw what I saw.
I am supposed to trust his judgement as a critic?  Really?
This person writes for a living.  He is a wordsmith.  He should choose his words carefully.
The balding, myopic, toothless, bulbed nosed music writer for the New York Daily News should be dragged through Howard Beach, NY by a herd of goats with diarrhea.
What? He has teeth?........whatever!!!
I see what I see and he sees what he sees. Subjective!!!!

Which brings me to my favorite judge on America's Got Talent, Howie Mandell. He was so clueless. He thought this Indian impressionist (Ronith) was hysterical.  Piers thought it was "twaddle".  Howie didn't think that we "got it".  We got it.  Ronith had no talent.
I guess Howie has some Indian blood in him.  He is, after all, an"untouchable".
Howie and Sharon voted for Ronith to go through a couple of times.  Well, what can you expect much from someone whose basic job is to be an translator for Ozzie?  Is Ozzie English? Is that what he is speaking or is it Ozziespeak?

Since I am here, I have a question that has been keeping me awake for many nights.
I realize that "people of color" keep changing their name.  When I grew up they were called "Negroes" (or something worse), now they call themselves "Afro-American".
This is all good. I have no problem with that.  That is not my problem.
My problem is what do they call black people in Canada?  Afro-Canadians?  I don't think so.  My wife spent most of her life in Canada and the term Afro-Canadian never came up.
She is French Canadian and probably lived closer to the North Pole than to Montreal for a few years, so it didn't come up in conversation that much, I suppose.  I suspect they said things like, "Cold, eh!!" and "Sacrebleu".  Another thing about Quebec is every town is
Saint something or other.  There may be a town with that name: "Saint something or other".  They ran out of Saints.
She lived in Saint-Something or other #19 for 2 years.

The little french lady and I watch Househunters International on HGTV.  We thought it would be interesting to live in a different country.  Then she started thinking about it.
"I am getting close to my retirement. We will have to find a country that has a better health care system than the US." she stated.
That cuts it down to about 30 countries in the western hemisphere. Cuba, Belize, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic to name a few. Avoid Haiti.
OK...I'm done.  I will sleep tonight.