While I, personally have never "googled" anyone I was interested in, when I was first getting to know my wife -- Whom I met HERE -- one of the first things I did was give her my full name and invite her to google ME. (Thank goodness the prison record didn't show up!) (I'm KIDDING!)
Seems to me that honesty is everything and inviting someone to check your background is just another way to prove your sincerety, especially in the day and age of electronic anonymity and internet scams.
Here's to the wine we love to drink And the food we love to eat. Here's to our wives and sweethearts (And may they never meet!) Here's Champaign to our real friends (And Real pain to sham friends.) And when this journey finalyy ends, May all of us find peace.
Here's to the women that I've loved And all the ones I've kissed. As for regrets, I just have one - That's all the ones I've missed! While women's faults are many, We men have only two: (Every single thing we say And everything we do!)
I wish you health, I wish you wealth And happiness galore. I wish you heaven when you die - What could I wish you more? May your joys be as deep as the ocean, Your troubles as light as it's foam And may you find sweet peace of mind Where ever you may roam...
Goodnight and happy New Year!
(And if the previous toast offended anyone or is deemed to be in poor taste in any way, shape or form... I promise it won't happen again before next year!)
Funny, I was born and raised in Kansas and have traveled all over North America (U.S.A., Canada & Mexico) but had to move to East Tennessee before I finally "came home."
Hang on to any of the new Arizona Quarters. If you have them, they may be worth much more than 25 cents. The US Mint announced today that it is recalling all of the Arizona quarters that are part of its program featuring quarters from each state. This action is being taken after numerous reports that the new quarters will not work in parking meters, toll booths, vending machines, pay phones or any other coin operated devices.
The problem lies in the unique design of the Arizona quarter. To honor Arizona's Mexican heritage, the design of the coin was awarded to a team of Mexican professors in Mexico City. Apparently, the duct tape holding the two dimes and the nickel together keeps jamming up the machines...
This recipe kinda' reminded me of the old "10 Little Bottles" recitatiom that Jphnny Bond (among others) did many many years ago. I haven't yet tried it myself, but it sure sounds like a good way to get into the Holiday spirit!
For those who still hold to the custom of making fruitcake every Christmas, I have found a WONDERFUL recipe guaranteed to be the best you ever tried. Be sure to read the directions VERY carefully, then... Enjoy!
Christmas Whiskey Cake
1 cup butter 2 cups sugar 6 large eggs 2 tsp. baking powder 3 cups flour, sifted 1/2 tsp. salt 1 cup Bourbon 1 pound pecans, chopped, 3 cups white raisins or candied fruit 1 tsp. nutmeg AND... A very large bottle of good bourbon whiskey
First, sample the whiskey to check for quality. Assemble all of the ingredients. Check the whiskey again. To be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink it.
Repeat this step.
Turn on the electric mixer and beat one cup of butter in a large fluffly bowl. Add one teaspoon sugar and cream until beat. Make sure the whiskey is still okay... Try another cup.
Turn off the mixer. Beat six leggs and add to the bowl, then chunk in the cup of dried flute. Mix on the turner. Throw in two quarts of flour. Gradually pour in the cow. Add two dried anything. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaters, pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whiskey again and check it for tonsistency.
Next sift two cups of salt or something... Who cares?
Check the whiskey again.
Now sift the nutmeg and your nuts. Add one table. And the spoon... Of whiskey, or something. Whatever you find left.
Cour another pup of viskey and spoon your mouth into some.
Grease the oven. Turn the crake pan to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Pour the oven into the batter. Throw the bowl out out the window. Lick the batter off the floor, being careful not to will the sphiskey. Bake 300 minutes at 50 degrees. Finish the bobble of whishky and go to bed.
I'll admit to being slightly different in real life. But only in the sense that I have several different ranges of voices and inflections and am a reasonably good mimic, something that is very hard to convey through the written (typed) word.
Here, I come across as the Kansan - And that's who I am. But in talking with me, a person might hear Sam Elliot, Clint Eastwood, Baxter Black, Kermit the Frog or Barney Rubble - And that's also who I am...
Always room for one more truck driver! I met my match here on CS and moved from Kansas to Tennessee last march to start on the rest of my life. Come to think of it, we went right past Poplar Bluff (out AND back) when we went after the rest of my stuff.
Welcome! It's a good place and there's good folks here. (Even a few others who spend their lives on the road.)
For some reason, this thread has me thinking about Norman Maclean...
I must admit that my own writing of prose and/or free verse has improved vastly since I first read "A River Runs Through It." I think it is mostly because, through his own writing, Norman Maclean showed me that it is possible to write beautifully and well and still maintain a sense of the absurd humor that has long been my shield from the world. One very great compliment I received was: "You could very well turn into the Norman Maclean of your time." I replied that I would rather turn into the Don McCrary of my time.
Still, having felt very 'Norman Maclean-esque' lately, I cannot help but think of the last three paragraphs and last sentence of his wonderful novella "A River Runs Through It." I hope that I am contributing to continuing the feel of this thread by sharing these lines from that wonderful master of prose:
"Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead. But I still reach out to them.
Of course now I am too old to be much of a fisherman and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I can think of several sounds that are unpleasant to my ears, yet I am still grateful that I can hear them. I think the most horrible sound in the world would be permanent silence.
He was not a man who feared death. He accepted it, made allowances for it and avoided his own with the same deft skill in which he was capable of causing it in others. The fact is that he didn't think much about it and that made his reactions automatic. And that allowed him to continue living.
He was not a killer, although he had killed to preserve his own life. He didn't think about that very often either. Once, when pressed for an answer by someone who thought about death a lot, he had replied "I enjoy living enough to want to continue living, if a man comes against me and wants to walk away then he had better enjoy it more than I do. I'm not in the habit of giving second chances."
MY birthday came along 100 years and 1 day after my home state of Kansas was granted statehood. My father and older brothers were all born in California, so to my family I have always been "The Kansan." It should perhaps be noted that I could have been born on "Kansas Day" but being a true Aquarian and therefore a procrastinator even at birth, I missed it by an hour and thirty eight minutes...
The following story was told to me as a true one. I hope you enjoy...
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She now lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel."
So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate.
My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
The previous story is dedicated to my wife, who's heart I saw clearly long before I looked into her eyes. I love you, J!
This fellow comes to confession. "Father," he said, "forgive me for I have sinned."
The priest asked, "What did you do, my son?" "I lusted," the fellow replied.
"Tell me about it," the priest said.
The fellow then related his story. "Father, I am a deliveryman for UPS. Yesterday I was making a delivery in the affluent section of the city. When I rang the bell, the door opened and there stood the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She had long blonde hair and eyes like emeralds. She was dressed in a sheer dressing gown that showed her perfect figure. And, she asked if I would like to come in."
"And, what did you do, my son?" asked the priest.
"Father, I did not go in the house but I lusted. Oh, how I lusted," replied the man.
"Your sin has been forgiven," replied the priest. "You will get your reward in heaven, my son."
"A reward, father? What do you think my reward might be?" the fellow asked.
The priest replied, "I think a dunce cap would be appropriate, you idiot!"
A father asks his 10-year-old son if he knows about the birds and the bees.
"I don't want to know!" the child says, bursting into tears. "Promise me you won't tell me!"
Confused, the father asks what's wrong.
"Oh, dad," the boy sobs. "When I was six, I got the 'There's no Santa speech'. At seven, I got the 'There's no Easter Bunny' speech. When I was eight, you hit me with the 'There's no tooth fairy' speech.
"Now, If you're going to tell me that grown ups don't really get laid, I'll have nothing left to live for!"
Howdy everyone, I'm a native Kansan transplanted to East Tennessee after meeting and marrying a wonderful lady down here.
I love Tennessee, but darned if I don't get to missing the high plains of northcentral/northwest Kansas sometimes! I spent 26 years in Ellis County and most of my friends are still there.
So I just thought I'd pop in and say howdy to everyone back home. (And if you ever decide to move away, East Tennessee is as close to Heaven as I've found!)
Wow, where do I start? Buckskinning (mountainman stuff) living history, nearly anything having to do with the outdoors, experimental archeology, (The practice of putting one's self as closely as possible into a given historical time period, then using only the tools/materials available at the time to exist for an extended time.) reading, writing for publication, writing for fun, and making up new nicknames for our critter kids.
Someday, I’m going to buy a small kitchen sink to pack with my buckskinning gear just so that when some smart alec says “Damn, looks like you packed everything but the kitchen sink!” I can turn around and hand it to them – Just to see the look on their face.
Someday, I want to make another door from the bathroom leading to a parallel universe so that our dogs will be justified in worrying about us when we go in there and close the door.
Someday, I want to find a mountain that used to be somewhere else and climb the damn thing just because it’s not there anymore.
Someday, when I least expect, it I do not want to be surprised by anything. Especially by something I did not expect.
Someday I want to find a use for all the crap I’ve been saving in hopes that someday I’ll find a use for it. So far the only use I’ve found for it is holding down the floor in the storage shed.
Someday I want to “fall forward” and “spring back” - Just so I can tell everyone that I’m on “daylight wasting time.”
Someday I’d like to get a notice in the mail telling me that I’m not overdue on a payment I don’t have to make.
Someday, I’d like to find a set of directions that don’t make me feel like an idiot because they are either too easy or too hard for me to follow.
Someday it’d be neat to go into a department store and find out that they actually sell departments.
Someday I’d like to actually give my wife a reasonable, logical and coherent answer instead of shrugging my shoulders and saying “Uh… I dunno.”
Someday, I’d like to have a day when all I really want to do is crawl around under the house and get wet, cobwebbed and muddy and hope that’s the day when the plumbing breaks.
Someday I’d like to find out that the water in the river is exactly the depth I thought it was, instead of finding out the hard way that it’s too deep for wading or too shallow for boating.
Someday, I’d like to find the locks that belong to all the keys I’ve acquired over the years and then find out that I have the only complete collection in existence and that it’s actually worth more than what I originally paid for all of them.
Someday, I’d like the socks I lose in the dryer to match the ones that I’ve already lost in the dryer.
Someday I’d like to win the Nobel Prize for discovering where all the socks we lose in the dryer actually go.
Someday I’d like to wash something red with something white and have the red article bleached instead of the white article permanently dyed pink.
Someday, I’d like to find out that all the times I was mistaken in the past, were actually mistakes and that I was really right all along.
Someday it’d be nice to buy a product and read a label which tells me that it is neither new nor improved but the same old crap that my grandmother used and that the only reason she used it is because it was the only crap of its kind available at the time.
Someday I’d like to wake up, realize how old I am and know exactly where the time went.
And someday… It’d be really cool to find out that there actually WAS a monster under my bed when I was four years old, but the reason it never quite got around to attacking me was because my father had the ability to magically turn it into a pile of clothes and toys.
Actually, I'm making two pots this morning so that I can fill my thermos - We had a hard freeze last night that really ought to maximize the fall colors, so I'm taking the canoe to do a 10 mile float down the Clinch River. Should be able to get some really beautiful pictures! (As well as catch a few fish!)
So - Anyone up for a nice cool canoe ride? I'll bring the coffee!
I've been on this site for more than a year. I've read many of your posts. Either you have a short memory or simply refuse to admit to your own past.
In almost every case (with the exception of your original post in this thread) in the past when someone did not agree with your views, I've seen you resort to exactly the things I mentioned in my response to your original post. Those prior posts (and your responses) are the ones that I alluded to. Though seldom directed at me, personally, I've nonetheless witnessed those things mentioned in my response.
So, my apologies - As you did not (other than the 'good ol' boy' reference) in this particular thread, make any of the references I mentioned - but only to a point, as I've seen you do exactly the things I alluded to in several of your previous posts.
Again, I will bow out of this and all other political threads and simply bid everyone a good evening.
(Oh, and I wasn't being "defensive," merely attempting to enlighten you just a little...)
B'lieve I'd choose 30. Before the knee surgeries, before the broken back, before the elbow surgery, before the slight widening of the middle and still able to "ride the rough string," yet old enough for my body to be trained to respond automatically to the demands placed upon it.
This is, of course, dependant upon being able to retain all the knowledge and life experience that I have now - Nothing changed but the physical body - still married to the wonderful lady who's made such a difference in my life, still living in East Tennessee, etc... If any of that ISN'T possible, then I'll stay right where I'm at!
You seem to be laboring under the belief that folks from the south are un-educated, boorish oafs who swill beer and Jack Daniels while riding around in their pick-up trucks hollering "YEE-HAW! Let's go kill us a 'possum!" whilst waving Rebel flags, on their way to vote Republican.
All I can is say that you are WAY off base! I've been in every state in this country, plus all of the Provinces of Canada and I can tell you that there are "Good Ol' Boys" (or rednecks, since you seem to like that term) in every area. Even Minnesota, home of the professional "wrastler" turned politician/Governor.
My mother-in-law is a died in the wool Southern Democrat, as is the gentleman who performed our wedding ceremony. In Mr. Wandell's case, he is also a gun totin', tobacco chewing Southern born redneck and seems to be pretty darned proud of it. He's also proud of the fact that, while on a hunting trip in New England, he had the opportunity to meet Mrs. Clinton for a one-on-one luncheon.
I don't happen to share his political views or his opinion of Mrs. Clinton, but then again, I come from Bob Dole country and have met Mr. Dole on several occasions and find him to be every bit as intelligent and engaging as Tracy finds Mrs. Clinton to be. And I respect the views of others even if I don't personally agree with them.
Personally, I do not believe that Mrs. Clinton will win in the south - personally, I HOPE that she doesn't win anywhere - but if she does become our next commander in chief, I will support her. Albeit grudgingly. And that's more than I can say for alot of so called "civilized democrats" where Mr. Bush (or any other Republican) is concerned.
I will leave this thread now and allow you to resort to the name calling and mud-slinging that you seem to have such a propensity for.
I sincerely wish your candidate luck. (But I wish mine even more luck!)
The_Kansan Forum Posts (3,395)
RE: Background Checks
While I, personally have never "googled" anyone I was interested in, when I was first getting to know my wife -- Whom I met HERE -- one of the first things I did was give her my full name and invite her to google ME. (Thank goodness the prison record didn't show up!) (I'm KIDDING!)Seems to me that honesty is everything and inviting someone to check your background is just another way to prove your sincerety, especially in the day and age of electronic anonymity and internet scams.