I guess I'm just getting old or something...

So I went to the mall this weekend...needed to get me some new jeans. I've been holding out for a while now. I've got some pants that are still in good shape, but they're a little tight. I thought old Billy might be able to help me get back in 'em.

My main problem was that the "nice" jeans that I wear to work are getting a little old and they get those stupid holes in the back by the pockets. What the hell is it with jeans that they always wear out right there by the inner sides of the back pockets? Its always the first to go! Of course the crotch is the next thing...nothing like going to your job with one of the boys hanging out!

Anyway, my jeans are getting old and I needed a new pair or four. I'm a big enough man to tell you that my mother and stepdad were here this weekend...I'm also a big enough man to tell you that my Mommy bought me a new pair of shoes (which I really needed) and a pair of jeans this weekend. Hey, I'm a big boy, I can fend for myself!

In all reality, I'm very thankful that my Mom came to see me and that she did this for me...she's going to be mad when she reads this...but after she left I went and bought another pair of jeans and 3 pairs of Khaki pants..sorry Mom, but I needed them.

Let's get to the damn point!

So we're looking for a good pair of jeans and they are no where to be found. All you can get are jeans that are pre-stained, pre-ripped, pre-run over, and pre-holed in the damn back pockets. Well hell!!!! I've already got jeans like that, what the hell am I doing out shopping? The problem is that I've got a real job. They don't like me coming to work in jeans that look like I've worn them since 2001 (holy shit, its 2006). I need some whole pants...and they're just not readily available. I'm going to have to start wearing Rustler's (not that there is anything wrong with some big bastard that can whip my ass wearing rustler's) or something like that.

Well, I guess I'm getting old, and not so cool anymore (I think I'm starting to find out that I was never cool in the first place) but I just went to the store and bought me some nice Khaki dress pants. I never thought it would happen...nope....not a chance...but I give up! I refuse to pay 50 bucks for a pair of pants that looks like they spent a week in Acuna (and I do know what that will do to you!) so I'll just look like the guy who's trying to climb the corporate ladder. Next thing you know I'll be shaving on a regular basis (not so fast!!!)

Kids these days and the damn clothes they wear!!!

Working Out...

So as I sat here looking at the turkey tonight (butterball belly) I started thinking back to a time long ago when I was but a wee lad. I weighed in at about a buck and half some 10 years ago and that was soaking wet. I had the chiseled stomach, and arms, blah, blah, blah f'in...anyway, I wasn't a muscle man. I was a skinny, but in shape guy who played sports and ran around all the time...and then I graduated high school and joined the Midwestern State University all-american skip class to drink team, and its all been pretty much down hill from there. As with any muscle, if you don't use it you'll lose it, and that is what happened.

So this gets me to this blog moment, you see I used to write all the time. At twenty I was writing for my small town newspaper, and had just started experimenting with writing songs, I was writing poetry, and pages among pages of very sad things that I don't want to dwell on (damn women!)

Just like having to get over the embarrassment of doing the Billy Blanks workout, I also had to get over the embarrassment of wanting to write in my small town. Let me take you all back on a little ride.

I was born a poor black child....wrong one

I was born in a very small town in North Texas, in the county Hospital June 6, 1978. Its still a debate today whether I'm lazy, stubborn, or both, but the doctors chose to come in and get me out when they thought it was my time to see the light. I almost killed my mother that day, and
I know I could never say I'm sorry enough, because I haven't made it much easier on her to this day.

I grew up just like every other boy in a small texas town...I was eating ticks at a young age, and was always trying to ride something...whether it be on four legs, or four wheels, and sometimes I didn't care whether I was clothed or not.

I'm not going to sit here and tell you I had a rough childhood...I was warm when it was cold, and cool when it was warm. I never went to bed hungry, and didn't want for much that I really needed. I will just say that I had some challenges, especially in my younger years, and I'm not even talking about the time that I had some weird eye infection and my eyes were crusted shut in the morning when I'd wake up. That was a long time ago, but I remember that vividly.
I can say that I was always a little strange, even though I was one of the popular kids. Of course, I graduated with 36 people, so its hard not to be popular in one way or another. I was one of those crazy guys, that usually does atleast one thing in his young life that people still talk about today...

I got older and did what the older kids in small Texas towns do...I played football, practiced basketball, played baseball and even dabbled in track. The problem was, that I also liked to do what is sometimes looked down upon from the cow punchers or oil field workers that made up the majority of our little town. I liked to write...but it was not something that I just came out and said I liked to do. In my town you had to be tough, you had to drink beer, and you had to hit it with the ladies at a young age...and I'll tell you, I was pretty good at meeting the bar...there are some of these things where I might have even raised some standards among my immediate peers.

I'll break a moment to ask, that if you know anyone, young or old who has a talent, but fears to grow and show it...give them a push...that's all it takes sometimes; just a little positive reinforcement.

So, anyway...stuck in a town where being creative often meant that you were weak...I hid my talents behind Wildcat Football and High School Whoremongering until the phenomenon called Texas Music came along. That's not appropriate, Texas Music has been alive for a long time, and Bob Wills is still the King, but the phenomenon I like to call Robert Earl Keen did come along and all of the sudden it was cool to write as long as you wrote something cool.
So, I used that to my advantage. I wrote things I thought were cool, or thought provoking, or just plain funny for my little paper...I also did sports, and some other little things, but the byline was my main focus there. I also bought a guitar and wrote some horrible songs. I knew maybe 5 chords, and man it was bad. One of my first songs was titled, "I guess I'm unhappy, not being unhappy" now is that a country title or what?

This is getting long eh?

The thing was... the more I wrote...the better I got (imagine that) and the better it flowed, and the better it felt. I was always thinking about something to write...I was always writing about something I'd seen or done. Sometimes it was in song, sometimes it was for the paper, and sometimes it was just for me, but I was always writing and growing my muscle (man, did y'all feel this thing reconnect or what?)

So here I am, got the butter ball hanging out over the keyboard, and banging on these keys...telling a story. Because for some reason lately, I quit using my writing muscle. Its been blocked...I haven't written a new song in quite some time. I've been messed up in the head or something. I had shifted focus to an up and coming band, and some matters of the heart, and had quit using the writing muscle.

Well, its time to start working out again. Myspace has actually been one of the key ingredients to getting me going again. As you can tell, I love to put my words out there, and it gives me one hell off a resource.

So I'm feeling pretty good about things right now. I'm trying to be more healthy, and phsyically fit...but also, I'm trying to get the old creative spirit alive again. Sometime, when I've got some more time, I might go digging through the old Archer County News archive and pull some of my articles out of there. They're entertaining, in one way or another, and I'll try to repost some.

Sometimes the only way to move forward, is to go back a bit.

I'm going to bed...my muscles hurt!

Whispers

So I originally was going to write today about a good thing...and I still am...but you'll just have to pardon me for the first few paragraphs or so here while I let off some steam.

A few weeks ago I happened onto a story about the Westboro Baptist Church. If you are not familiar with the organization, or cult, or whatever you might want to call them, they are the group that goes around picketing at funerals of fallen soldiers. I won't go too far into their history, I have checked it out on their web page and you can too http://www.godhatesfags.com/ yep, your reading that right. Now I'm not the guy driving the gay bus...that's not my fight at all, but geez.

Anyway, so I saw this story a few weeks ago and it really enraged me. I don't get mad about much...I'm pretty easing going most of the time, but this...this....this really pissed me off. I wanted to just start writing about how wrong these people are...I wanted to tell the world (I live in my own world, I can reach most of me) how wrong this is. The problem being, I'm in no way fit to start a religious debate...I'm just an old drunken heathen...I'm not qualified to tell anyone how right or wrong any of their religious practices are. What I am experienced in, and I'm not asking for pity, is death. I've seen a lot of death in my 27 years. Its not that I wanted to, or was a funeral chaser or anything like that, it just so happened that I've just had quite a few people pass away in my life. Some of those people I was very close with, and the went "before their time" if you believe such a thing. I know how to mourn, or at least how to cope with death...or maybe I don't, but I do know how death makes you feel inside. I also know that if these groups would have showed up to one of those funerals with their hate pickets, I wouldn't have stood by, I wouldn't have held back...something would have been done.

So Angry!!!

Soldiers...Men who died while serving their country. Whether you believe the war that is happening right now to be right or wrong, they did their duty as soldiers. Oh, and this is not about the war in Iraq, or on terrorism, or about oil, or whatever you want to believe that its in...these people picket any fallen soldier. If a soldier were to die protecting the group of picketers from angry family or a fallen soldier, then they would picket that soldier's funeral. Go read the web page, read the insanity, feel the hate that flows from their site.

There is a FAQ section on their site...you can get a lot of info about the madness from this section alone. The following is their answer on why they picket soldier's funerals:

Why do you picket soldiers' funerals?
Here are some axiomatic matters of fact: These turkeys are not heroes. They are lazy, incompetent idiots looking for jobs because they're not qualified for honest work. They were raised on a steady diet of fag propaganda in the home, on TV, in church, in school, in mass media - everywhere - the two-pronged lie: 1) It's OK to be gay; and, 2) Anyone saying otherwise, like WBC, is a hatemonger who must be vilified, demonized, marginalized into silence. Therefore, with full knowledge of what they were doing, they voluntarily joined a fag-infested army to fight for a fag-run country now utterly and finally forsaken by God who Himself is fighting against that country.

They turned America Over to fags; They're coming home In body bags.

Are you mad yet?

Imagine a wife and mother and the children that are at home alone, wondering when or if they will ever see their man again. Imagine the feeling that runs down their spine and back up into their stomach when they hear the news that their soldier didn't make it. Imagine the loss and despair, imagine the pain and the memories, and now imagine trying to lay that loved one to rest with an angry mob of irreverent ass holes (it had to be said) chanting that God killed your fag soldier. Imagine a hurting mother having to explain why these animals are calling daddy a Faggot. The Westboro folk say that they do not teach hate, but rather teach truth. Which does seem funny if you read one of their featured articles : http://www.godhatesfags.com/fliers/feb2006/20060220_ten-american-military-idiots.pdf

If you don't' want to read it, here's the headline: WBC to picket funerals of ten American Military idiots killed last Friday

This is where the good comes in. I was reading through the headlines today (gotta love headlines) and I came upon the story of some bikers called the Patriot Guard Riders. They ride to the funerals of fallen heroes, but only the ones they are asked to attend, and position themselves between the hatemongers and those who are mourning. Some of these dudes are pretty scary looking, but they are not there intimidate the opposition, rather they are there to support a family who has lost a loved one. You can read more about these guys at:

www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1546831/posts or www.patriotguard.org

Then it makes you feel good again. It feels good that someone is stepping up and taking on the extremist. It makes me feel good to know that someone has enough respect for these families, enough love in their hearts to go out of their way to try to let a horrible horrible day be a little less painful. It makes me want to buy a Harley and hit the road. These guys have a link on their web page where you can get more info and also one where you can give a tax deductible donation. I'm not telling or even asking you to give them money, but I get paid at midnight on Thursday (direct deposit, tmi???) and Friday Morning I'm going to give them some of mine.

Somebody say something...everybody say something!!!

For so long now it seemed that the only people speaking up, were the ones opposing all things American. Rallies and rants about taking prayer out of public schools and its functions, about honoring the religious habits of muslims and other religions or those who choose no religion at the cost of the one that this country was founded upon, about changing the pledge of allegiance, about taking the commandments off courthouse lawns, about taking the Christ out of Christmas and I've wondered if anyone of the good guys was ever going to say, "enough is enough".

So here I am. An uneducated, non-practicing Christian alcoholic (I'm a balls to the wall sinner folks!!!) I have no standing within my community, I will never run for office (although maybe I should with these credentials), people don't look up to me...basically I'm not much...but I'm saying that enough is enough. It's a mere whisper...all I need is another whisper...and another...and another and then all of a sudden we are saying something and it can be heard.

I'm not asking for you to change, I'm asking that you quit trying to change me.

I'm glad to be a Texan, and thankful that I live in these United States, but some things need fixing. Maybe I'll move to Australia...those guys have got some balls when it comes to their country and how it will be run.

Oh yeah, and tonight when you say your prayers...say a little prayer for the Texas WettNex...may they get what God has in store for them!

Hear the music... www.myspace.com/thetexaswettnex