Book Reviews from the New York Times

I thought I would try something different this week. Thanks to a tip from Kristen Lamb, an awesome lady who gives advice to writers on her blog, I found out about a different approach to blog sharing. I have had writer friends, Slim Randles, Tracy Farr and Carl Brookins who have either sent me a review, as in the case of Carl, or given me permission to use one of their blog posts or essays. But what Kristen suggested recently is that we give a teaser on our blog with a link to the site where the original was posted.

Since Sunday is my usual day for a book review, I decided I would link to one of the premier review places, The New York Times. Here is the opening of a recent review of Elmore Leonard's latest book, Raylan. The review was written by Olen Steinhauer.

 In an essay that appeared in The New York Times in 2001, “Easy on the Adverbs, Exclamation Points and Especially Hooptedoodle,” Elmore Leonard listed his 10 rules of writing. The final one — No. 11, actually — the “most important rule . . . that sums up the 10,” is “If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.” It’s a terrific rule. In fact, I liked it so much that I passed it on to a creative-writing class I once taught. However, there’s more to it, which I didn’t pass on: “Or, if proper usage gets in the way, it may have to go. I can’t allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the ­narrative.” 

 I thought this was a bit serendipitous, as Leonard is one of my favorite authors, and I love his rules of writing, especially:  “Or, if proper usage gets in the way, it may have to go. I can’t allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the ­narrative.”

I hope you can go read the rest of the review of the new book in which U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens, now the star of the TV show “Justified,” returns to confront gambling, mining and organ trafficking in Elmore Leonard’s latest.

Here's another bit of humor from my friend, Tracy Farr..... This post orginally appeared December 2008.

 Here's another bit of humor from my friend, Tracy Farr..... This post orginally appeared December 2008. 

It's more than just a haircut

Our country is going through some dire times. Banks are collapsing, the American auto industry is hitting speed bumps, and people are just not buying executive jets like they used to. So, it is up to us -- you and me -- to get this economy going again, and that's why I did my patriotic duty this weekend and got a haircut.

 

Tim is my barber. He's been cutting my hair for almost 15 years. He knows exactly how I like it cut without me having to tell him. And if Tim's barbershop goes under, so goes the country.

It's a known fact that my money ($10 plus a dollar tip) helps to keep Tim and many others in business. When I pay Tim for my haircut, he spends it on things like rent, shaving cream and magazine subscriptions. His landlord is happy to be able to keep landlording, the shaving cream company is happy to continue delivering Tim's favorite shaving cream, and the magazines are happy because they are assured they can print next month's edition.

 

Tim takes a portion of that $10 as his salary and spends it at Wal-Mart, thus guaranteeing job security for the Associates. The Associates use their 10 percent discount to buy T-shirts and Jessica Simpson posters, thus guaranteeing that the T-shirt companies and Jessica Simpson stay in business. The T-shirt companies and Jessica Simpson are so happy to be making money that they decide to work together and make a Jessica Simpson T-shirt, which the Wal-Mart Associates buy in bulk and wear on their days off.

Since Jessica reaps the benefits of being worn all over the place, she takes her cut of the profits and produces a Christmas special, thus employing a bunch of Hollywood types who know just how to make a cheesy TV program but wouldn't be caught dead wearing a Jessica Simpson T-shirt. These Hollywood types produce "The Jessica Simpson Wish You Were Here Holiday Christmas Sing-A-Long Special" and make millions on advertising by airing it on prime time TV, thus causing simple folk like you and me to say, “How can they get away with putting this goat poop on television?” at which time we turn off the TV and get down on the floor to play games with our kids.

 

Because of my little $10 haircut, hundreds of people are employed, millions of dollars exchange hands, thousands of bottles of hand sanitizer are emptied trying to keep all those germs at bay, families all over this great nation are doing something family-ish, and I feel like I've done my part in bringing this country back from the brink of disaster.

 

So what are you waiting for? Our country needs us! Go get a haircut, and together we shall save the world!

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The Daily Spittoon -- Almost worth a shave and a haircut!

Wednesday's Guest - Tracy Farr

In revisiting past blogs I found this piece that appeared in October 2008.  Thought you might enjoy the humor.

Here is another guest blog from a talented jazz musician, who also has a deft hand with writing humor. He shares a weekly column with readers at winnsborotoday.com, and also graciously allows me to share with readers here. Enjoy.

Peanut M&Ms Anonymous

Hello, my name is Tracy, I’m addicted to Peanut M&Ms, but I haven't had any for 13 hours and 22 minutes.

"Hello Tracy, and welcome to the group."

Thanks. To be honest, I was reluctant to come here at first because I didn't actually think I had a problem. I thought I could control my desire to eat Peanut M&Ms by myself, but I was wrong.

"Tell us your story, Tracy. You're among friends."

Well, I can say I'm luckier than most. Some kids are born with the need to eat M&Ms because their mothers ate M&Ms while they were pregnant. Even though the doctors warn and often beg these mothers to stop eating M&Ms during pregnancy, they don't listen. And then they have M&M babies -- newborns just twitching with the need to eat something round and chocolate. Luckily, that was not my case.

For me, my addiction started when I was quite young. I was hooked the first time I saw M&Ms, tore open a package and let them melt in my mouth and not in my hands. Those were just the plain chocolate kind -- the kind kids love -- but as I grew older and my tastes grew more mature, I naturally gravitated to Peanut M&Ms.

The first time I popped a Peanut M&M, my universe just sort of exploded with new possibilities. I could see things more clearly. I could understand things that I never understood before. It was like my senses were attuned to higher and more sensitive levels. And once you pop one, you have to pop another to keep that high going.

It wasn't long before I found myself buying a bag of Peanut M&Ms and eating the entire thing without even realizing it. And I'm not talking about the little $1 bag you get out of a vending machine. I'm talking about the family-size, 6-pound bag that costs almost $12 and should last a lifetime.

It finally hit me that I had a problem when my little girl said she needed new shoes and I told her I didn't have any money, when in fact I did. I was saving that money to score me another bag of M&Ms before the weekend. And that's why I’m here at this meeting.

I’ve tried stopping cold turkey, but it's just too hard. I figured with help, and with belonging to a group of people who have suffered through the same problem and survived, that maybe I, with support, could pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again.

But, maybe I should start slowly. Maybe I should only eat a small bag a day and ease off this addiction gradually.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Is there a vending machine around here?

And can somebody loan me a dollar?

~~~~~~~~~
Tracy Farr is a musician, school bus driver, and humor writer. Visit him at TracyFarr.com

The Daily Spittoon -- All the flavor but with half the calories.

Monday Morning Musings

The summer drama camp for young players starts today at the Winnsboro Center for the Arts, so I will be incredibly busy for the next two weeks with the camp and for the show we will do at the end of the camp.But I'm not complaining, mind you. It's just an excuse to play for two weeks, and we will have a lot of fun.

I started doing this camp for kids about six or seven years ago, and we have had one every year since. It is always so much fun to work with young people and encourage them to explore their creativity. The purpose of the camp is to help kids be comfortable on stage and teach them elements of acting, staging, costumes, make up and more. I have worked with so many kids over the years, I have lost count of how many, but quite a few have stayed involved in productions at the center.

One young teen who started in the camp five years ago just sent me a message on Facebook, thanking me for helping him find his stage voice. I remember how hesitant he was to speak up when delivering lines, and now he is quite an accomplished actor, starring in his school's UIL one-act play last year.

This year I will be working with two young women, who both started with me as Young Players when they were in elementary school. One just finished her second year as a theatre major at Washington University in St. Louis, and the other just graduated from high school and will be going on to college to minor in theatrre. They will bring a new level of expertise to the camp, and I am so thrilled to be working with them.

The camp is very time intensive, both during the actual camp hours and preparing for the show in the evenings, so I will not have time for blogging. Thank goodness I can always borrow from my friends, Slim Randles and Tracy Farr, so I will be letting them entertain you most of the time for the next two weeks. Although I may blog from the camp if I have time, so stay tuned.

Friday's Odds and Ends

First off today is a wonderful bit of wisdom regarding the debate about the mosque and Ground Zero. Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, who would be the spiritual leader of the mosque, was recently  quoted as saying the clash is not between Christians and Muslims. "The real battle that we must wage together today is not between Muslims and non-Muslims. It is between moderates of all the faith traditions. We must not let the extremists, whatever their faith, whatever their political persuasion, hijack the discourse...."

Amen.

I'm a Plugger. I have no idea who this Lady Gaga is and what is the deal about the meat dress?

AWARD - Carol Kilgore from Under the Tiki Hut presented me with the Versatile Blogger Award.  It is quite an honor to receive this award and according to the rules I am supposed to tell seven things about me and then pass the award on. Carol, who shares my inclination to be a rule-breaker, decided to share seven things about her writing. She also gave us permission to mix-up the rules any way we want, so I am going to share some things about my cats. I might get to seven and I might not.
       1. Little John, who is definitely not so little anymore, thinks he is king. The rest of the cats defer to him, so maybe he is right.
       2. Shadow, new kitty on the block, has given up on trying to make friends with the other cats and plays with the dog.
       3. Orca is a pig. He sits like a vulture while the other cats are eating, just waiting for the leftovers.
       4. Orca is also a great hunter. The other day he got that gopher that was tearing up my pasture.
       5. We only have one cat that we got on purpose.
       6. Misty, the matriarch of the herd - is that the proper term? - tolerates the other cats, but really wishes she lived alone.

Now I will pass this on to a few of my blogger friends. Tracy Farr at I'm Just a Guy  because I think he will have the most fun with breaking the rules. Mary at Giggles and Guns because she, too, will have a twist on the rules. Don't you just love the name of her blog? A new blogger friend, Alex, at Breakfast Every Hour . You can really tell I like blogs with unusual names.

Lastly, I am a guest today at Elaine Cantrell's Blog  where I am interviewed by the central character in my upcoming release, Open Season. Since Robin Spano and I are still debating whose idea this type of interview was, I am going on record as saying I did this one for Elaine looonnngggg before Robin did hers. Just sayin...
Elaine's blog has lots of links to interesting sites and articles about the publishing business and is a nice place to visit.

Guest Post by Tracy Farr

I am doing the Youth Drama Camp again this week, so I am gone from my office most of the time. Thank you Tracy Farr for allowing me to stea... er,  borrow your work when I am desperate for a blog piece. Enjoy....

5 Tips on Surviving Marriage

Sadie and Reese are friends of mine who recently got married. I took their wedding pictures. While at the wedding, I thought about giving them advice on how to sustain a long and happy marriage, but reconsidered, thinking it might be inappropriate to give them my counsel as they exchanged rings or ate wedding cake.

But now that the ceremony is over, Sadie and Reese, I hereby and forthwith give you my Five Tips on Surviving Marriage:

1. Reese: It is YOUR job to mow the yard. Yes, you may be tempted to let her push the lawnmower or ride the tractor around the yard after you’ve come home from a hard day at work, and we (and by we, I mean your man brothers), we may look at you with admiration for conning your wife into doing it for you – but it’s a trap. Let her mow the yard once, and she’ll use it against you until she lays you in your grave. And maybe even longer.

“What do you mean you don’t have time to pick up the milk,” she’ll say. “Don’t you remember how I mowed the yard for you three years ago, without any help? And you don’t have time to pick up a lousy carton of milk? My mother warned me this would happen.”

Sadie: It is your job to mow the yard as often as possible, thus giving you tremendous amounts of leverage against him. If he beats you to the lawnmower, at least bring him a glass of iced tea while he’s mowing. You can use that as leverage, too.

To read the rest of the tips, click over to Tracy's Blog

Just for Fun

Since I am busy this week with the Youth Drama Camp at the art center in town, I thought I would let my friend Tracy entertain you today. Enjoy:


Just in case you haven't been keeping up with the news lately, the U.S. - Mexico border is not the only place immigration officials are trying to secure.

To our north, illegal Dougs are seeping across the border at an unprecedented rate, and our federal government seems unable to do anything about it, or they are choosing to turn a blind eye to the situation. Either way, illegal Dougs are here in America, and if we don't do something about them soon, it will be too late.

The illicit Doug trade began to boom two decades ago when American parents stopped naming their children "Doug" or "Douglas." The Canadian underworld saw its chance to profit from this and built Doug farms where pregnant girls are paid money to name their new boy babies "Doug." Once the Dougs mature, they are smuggled across the border to find jobs in retail, thus taking jobs away from Americans.

To read the rest of the story hop over to Tracy's BLOG    It is worth the trip, trust me.

A Bit of Humor

Thank goodness I can always count on my friend, Tracy Farr, to have something fun to read on his blog. I have been out of town for a few days and swamped with work, so coming up with something new for the blog is a challenge I just can't deal with right now.

Tracy is gracious enough to let me ste..., er, borrow, from him when I am in a bind and the following is the lead to a piece he has on his blog today. It really is funnier than anything my overloaded brain could come up with right now. Enjoy.....

I spend way too much time on the computer. And when I say “I spend too much time,” I’m including YOU because you do too, and you can’t deny it – unless you don’t have a computer, then I guess you could deny it, but I’d think you were lying, so don’t.

We all spend way too much time on our computers and not enough time mingling with the people around us because 1) we don’t have to brush our teeth to chat with someone over the internet, and 2) we don’t want to talk to real people out in the real world on the off chance that they’ll have last night’s spinach stuck between their teeth.

To Read the rest click HERE

More Fun From Tracy Farr

Just had to share this latest bit of nonsense from my friend, Tracy.....

The Human Brain Can't Handle Extreme Multi-Tasking

Researchers have recently discovered that the brain can only keep track of two tasks at a time, which is totally absurd because at this exact moment, not only am I thinking about what I'm about to type, and then typing it, but I'm also wondering where I put my tall glass of sweet iced tea, because I know I just had it and...

No...wait...I was just THINKING about making a tall glass of sweet iced tea, with lemon, if we have any, but I'm not sure. I'll check the fridge......

See, that's three things, isn't it? Now, where was I?

Oh yes. These brain researchers say our medial frontal cortex (whatever that is) divides so that each side can focus on a single task at the same time. Which again is totally ridiculous because I would think if our brains are up in our heads dividing all by themselves, we'd be able to feel something, or at least hear it. Not only that, but if they can divide once, shouldn't they be able to subdivide, and keep subdividing until we have our own little brainiac subdivisions, complete with condos, a golf course and free broadband internet?

Read the rest HERE

A Little Bit of Levity

Here is some fun from my friend, Tracy Farr....


Oh baby, let me tell ya these last few weeks I've cooked more things out on the grill than I think I've ever done in my whole entire life. I've got smoke in my hair, steak in my belly, and I think I like it.

In fact, I like grilling so much now, I wrote a little song parody about it called "I'm A Grill Man"

To sing along visit Tracy's blog . It's fun, trust me.

Now for a little levity...

I figured since I did a couple of days of ranting, it was time for a break. My friend, Tracy Farr, did a hilarious post on his blog today. He wrote a letter to President Obama about Health Care. Here is just a teaser, and I hope you will go over to Tracy's blog and read the whole piece.

Dear Mr. President,

Thank you so much for being president. I thought for awhile that I might have to do the job, but since nobody would ever vote for a person who promises "jobs for everyone, better education, and a few goats in the backyard," it's probably best that you took it and not me.

I know that you get many, many letters a day from people telling you what to do, telling you how good or bad you are, wanting you to sign up for new satellite TV service at great introductory low prices -- but that's not why I'm writing. I would like to talk to you today about Health Care.

Now, I'll be the first one to tell you that I don't know diddly about Health Care. For that matter, I don't know much about history, don't know much biology, don't know much about a science book, don't know much about the French I took. (Hmmmm...sounds like that could be some cool song lyrics. I'll work on that later.)...........

Find the rest HERE

Fun in the snow

While I've been busy cleaning up broken branches and fallen trees, some people have actually had time to enjoy the recent snow in East Texas. My friend, Tracy Farr is one of them.

Here is just a snippit of the blog he wrote today about building snow people with his daughter. If you get a chance, hop over to read the rest.

"My daughter built her first snowman yesterday. It was a dapper young gent, complete with scarf and pinecone eyes, a cute little baby-cut carrot nose, and rock-hard abs (she insisted).

I built a snowgal with big boobs, but she turned out to be a little too frigid for me.

It's not every day you get to build a snowman. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I’ve built one. And I’m not talking about one of those pipsqueak snowmen you build on the hood of your car. I’m talking about a World Federation Wrestler-size Snowman—a snowman so big it would laugh in the face of a sunny day, if it could laugh."

More Fun From Tracy Farr

I am pleased to once again share some of the odd twists of mind my friend, Tracy, has. We all need a good chuckle now and then. Enjoy.....

Rain, Rain, Go Away! And That's an Order!
By Tracy Farr

This is to inform you that I've put in a work order concerning the rain problem we seem to be having, and I suggest that if the matter is not looked into in a timely manner, we form an ad hoc committee to address the issue with the All-Powers That Be as soon as possible.

Personally, my complaints concern: (1) access to my humble abode, which is currently surrounded by water, and (2) the use of "the facilities," which really means the NON use of "the facilities."

In reference to "access" -- I would be better able to access my humble abode if given some kind of floating apparatus that is large enough to comfortably transport a family of five. I'm not suggesting something as grandiose as an Ark, but a U.S. Marine Corps Advanced Amphibious Assault Vehicle (AAAV), might just fit the bill.

In reference to "the facilities" -- Because my humble abode sits on an acre out in the country, I do not have access to the public sewage utilities. Instead, I must use the tried-and-true septic tank system, which truly works well in dry weather, but I just tried it a few minutes ago (I needed to go after drinking two cups of coffee) and all functionality is at a standstill. Therefore, I have just raised our Alert Level to "Def-Con One."

Def-Con One: All personnel must adhere to the "Pee-Little Principle" until further notice. Number Two is off limits except for emergency situations. Chemical Warfare Gear is advised until Flushing is reinstated.

Personnel not adhering to Def-Con One face persecution under the Uniform Code of My Justice, with possibility of monetary fine, jail time and reduction in rank.

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Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife and children and a number of goats. You can find more of his humor at his Web site He is also a regular columnist for WinnsboroToday.com

Across the Great Divide...

... between men and women. More fun from my friend, Tracy Farr. And men wonder why we sometimes get in a snit.... Enjoy...

I would get up and do something, but everything’s done

So here I am, sitting on the couch on a lazy Saturday afternoon, thinking I really should get up and do something, or fix something, or paint something, but I can’t make up my mind what I should do, fix or paint.

And it doesn’t help that my wife is scurrying around trying to organize the magazines that will only get unorganized in a week or two. And I think she may even be doing a little bit of dusting.

It’s not every day I find myself with nothing to do, but it does happen. Mostly I take care of my goats, practice banjo a bit, I may fix myself a cup of coffee or maybe a bowl of ice cream, but there’s always something to do – except for today. Today my slate is clean, my page is blank, my To Do List is done and I have absolutely nothing on the agenda.

Okay, now she wants me to help her decide which magazines to keep and which ones to throw out. If she could just push that stack over here next to the couch, maybe I could help her, but she wants me to come over there – at a time when I’m putting enormous amounts of thought into figuring out what I need to do today, and I really should…

The truck. I need to check the oil in the truck. I don’t think it’s low or anything, but I did notice an oil leak on the ground the other day as I was pulling away from Wal-mart. But then again, that could have been someone else’s oil leak. In fact, I’m sure it was. And I’d hate to go check the oil now, considering the ground is all muddy, which means my feet would get all muddy, and I wouldn’t want to track a lot of dirt through the house, seeing that my wife is now vacuuming.

Boy, that vacuum cleaner is loud. It’s hard to get some good quality thinking done with all that racket going on. And she pushes that thing like there’s a time limit; like she put in her last quarter, and once that quarter runs out, she can’t do anymore. I mean she’s really working up a sweat. I wonder if she’s vacuuming like that to get her daily exercise in, instead of going to some gym or something. Well, I guess I might have to move, because I really need to figure out what I’m going to do.

Wait a minute, I remember – I was going to fix the leak under the house today. It’s not a bad leak, just some PVC that’s come apart, letting all the water from the washing machine flow out into our front yard. I went under the house about a month ago, saw that the pipes might come apart soon if I didn’t fix it, but I didn’t, because it looked like it would last a few more weeks. But now there’s water everywhere, and I would get under the house to repair it, but it’s too cold, and getting under the house during the winter is really nasty. I think it can wait until May, or maybe June. Water is good for the grass, anyway, so it can’t hurt too much.

Okay, she’s finished vacuuming, but now what is she doing? Ah, dishes. I thought about doing the dishes, but since our dishwasher is broken and we have to do them by hand, and I hate doing them by hand, I didn’t do them. I guess I’ll get back to washing dishes when I get around to calling the repairman, but this is the weekend and I doubt repair shops are even open.

Who wants to work on a weekend, anyways? I know I don’t. I much prefer sitting on this couch, maybe watching a movie or two, because I work hard during the week and I think that maybe I deserve some downtime. Some good quality, pick my feet off the floor, downtime. And I wish she’d stop flitting around doing all that work because she’s making me feel just a wee bit guilty that I don’t have anything to do and she’s…

She’s taking out the garbage. Big bags. Right out the front door, down the steps, through the mud, and it’s still a bit chilly outside, but she’s doing it anyway. I guess I could open the door for her when she…

Oh well, she’s already back inside. She doesn’t look happy. I wonder why?

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Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his Web site

Men are not perfect... says who?

Here is some more humor from my friend Tracy Farr. All the feminists in the room need to get a grip. Enjoy....



It has recently come to my attention that there may be a number of things that we men do that drive "our women" absolutely bonkers. I'm not exactly sure what good can come from knowing these things, but I put it before you, nonetheless.

The Toilet Paper Roll – It is possible that there are some women who get upset when their man uses the last bit of toilet paper and doesn’t replace the roll. I got this impression after Colleen in Virginia said, “Is there anything worse than sitting down only to see an empty cardboard tube?”

Yes, Colleen, there is: Discovering the roll is empty only when you’re ready to get up!

So guys, if you’re willing to nip this problem in the bud before it really becomes an issue, my advice to you is this: Never use the bathroom at home. Go to a neighbor’s house.

Master of the TV Remote – According to Angela in Florida, she hates it when her husband “hogs the television remote and we have to watch the same old crap every night (cops, mobsters, hunting, investigation shows or army junk).”

Well, Angela, you don’t expect him to watch Oprah or “Sex in the City,” do you? That would cause even more problems.

Guys, if you are aware you have a TV remote fetish, my advice to you is this: Hand over the remote for longer and longer periods of time in order to break free from the constant responsibility of being in charge of the television. Start off with a second or two, and eventually build it up to about 60 seconds. That’s about as long as a commercial. Then, let your wife be in charge of the remote during the commercials. I guarantee that’s a win-win situation.

Oh Where, Oh Where is His Underwear – One of the things that drives Janice in Chicago absolutely nuts is when her husband, “leaves his underwear in the middle of the floor.”

Okay, Janice, I hear your frustration, but don’t you agree that leaving his underwear in the middle of the floor is much better than leaving it in the refrigerator? And he could, you know. He goes over to the fridge to fix himself a ham and cheese sandwich, remembers that he hasn’t changed is underwear in awhile, then absentmindedly stuffs it in the crisper just so he can have a hand free to grab the mayo. Yes, oh yes, I believe that could be far worse.

Guys, if leaving your underwear all over the house really drives your woman to the point of madness, there’s only one solution: Find a comfortable pair and never take them off, forsaking all others, till death do you part.

The Speed Racer – Now here’s an unusual story: The one thing that drives Janet in Virginia over the edge of marital bliss is that her husband “drives too slow. Just ask the kids.”

Well, Janet, I would, but I don’t know your kids, will never know your kids, and I have no desire to ever ask them about your husband’s driving habits because I couldn’t bear for them to corroborate that their loving father drives like a granny. It’s unthinkable. It’s absurd. I even hazard to say that male genes do not flow through that man’s jeans.

Guys, if anyone ever compares your driving to that of a mild-mannered toothless grandma who thinks man was never meant to travel faster than a good walk around the block, then my advice to you is this: Give away your keys to someone who thinks the speed of light is too slow, and don’t you ever get behind the wheel of an automobile again. If you must satisfy your need for speed, watch NASCAR and take a quick nap.

Telephone Etiquette – Donna in Texas says she’s pretty happy with her husband, except “he hangs up the phone without saying ‘bye.’ He also corrects my grammar and he drives very aggressively.”

Well, Donna, I can see why you could get a little bit snippy about the grammar thing and never hearing “bye” at the end of a phone conversation, but you’ve got a man who knows how to punch holes through traffic jams and will always get you to where you’re going before you’ve even left the house. So, what do you want? More perfection?

Guys, if your telephone skills are a bit lacking, but you drive like a World Federation wrestler, here’s my advice: Throw the other guy out of the ring in the third round and pound him with the chair. The audience will love it.

Well folks, there it is. Take it for what it’s worth. As for me, I think it’s best if I change the subject.

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Tracy Farr lives in East Texas with his wife, three children and some goats. To read more of his stories, visit his website at http://www.tracyfarr.net.

Christmas Shopping

Here are rules for shopping from my friend, Tracy. Enjoy.....

The Five Christmas shopping ‘Rules of Engagement’

Christmas is creeping up on us again, and that means it’s time to brave the wild indoor shopping centers and outlet malls with the hope of getting some serious Christmas shopping done without being crushed to death in Aisle No. 9 during a Blue Light Special. But do you think I’m worried? Nosirree! I’ve got a plan, and as long as I stick to it, I will not die!

My plan is to do all my shopping on Christmas Eve, hitting the stores with military-like precision: attack, attack, attack, take no prisoners, and don’t charge anything until you see the whites of their eyes. And I believe in “attacking at dawn,” when there’s little resistance because nobody else is stupid enough to get up that early just to go shopping.

Yes, I believe the best time for shopping maneuvers at the local Mega Store is when there are only four people in the building – me, Barbara at the cash register, and the two stock boys in the back who always seem to be asleep. At any other time, those two would follow me around, making me “hit the dirt” every time they lob a bag of potato chips or toilet paper over my head. But, even that’s preferable to being surrounded by a horde of mothers, their screaming children and Zombie-like Husbands.

Beware – Zombie Men are everywhere! They gather at supermarkets and malls this time of year, and, given half a chance, they will suck the life right out of you.

Zombie Men are easy to spot: They hunch over their shopping carts, their eyes downcast in order to avoid eye contact with strangers. Their feet shuffle as they walk, and if you listen closely, you can hear them mumble things like, “Yes dear,” and “Whatever you say, dear,” and “I don’t give a rip, dear,” and “I mean, they look fresh to me, dear.”

Zombie Men used to be regular guys – men who went to the feed store, who tore apart engines for fun, who always had venison in the freezer. But somewhere along the way, they started pushing shopping carts for their wives – wives who are always agitated, jittery, looking for the best bargain, picking up this can of soup, comparing it with that can of soup, finally putting both cans of soup in the cart, telling her Zombie Husband to speed up, slow down, grab that box of cake mix, “No! Not that one! The store brand because it's cheaper.”

“Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear.”

Sometimes when the Zombie Men accidentally look up, I see in their faces a wish for me to put a bullet right between their eyes, just to end their suffering. But I have to look away. There is nothing I can do for them. When I go shopping, I leave my pistol at home.

So, to make sure that I never have to endure crowds, bargain-hunting wives, yelling children, and Zombie Men, I adhere to the following Five Christmas Shopping “Rules of Engagement.” If you can benefit from it, fine. If not, don’t blame me:

1. Make a list of items you need to procure (military term that means “acquire”). Do not leave your Fort without a list. To do so, and be stuck trying to decide between the George Forman Grill or a baby Rat Terrier, would mean certain “death by indecision.”

2. Before you make your list, scout out (another military term that means “reconnoiter”) what size your honey wears, because to buy a 20 when she really needs a 10 means certain “death by fuming.”

3. With list in hand, attack at dawn, or as soon as the front door is open. If the store is having a “50 Percent Off Everything Starting at Dawn” sale, then Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!.

4. Once safely inside the store, quickly commandeer a cart. If someone else is using it at the time – well, spoils of war. With acquired cart, head to the ADM (Area of Desired Merchandise), probe the area, acquire your target, lock and load your cart, then head to the extraction zone (somewhere around Cashier No. 4) making no contact with the general population.

5. The only time you can breathe a sigh of relief is when you are safely out of the Combat Zone and back at your Fort. Count your acquisitions (a military word for “booty” which is a pirate word for “loot”), then conceal it under the bed or some other safe place that nobody would dare clean for fear of “death by dust.”

And that my friends is the key to safe holiday shopping. I wish you the best of luck. Remember, if you follow the rules, you WILL survive!

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Or you can avoid all that entirely and buy a nice book online for a gift. I happen to know someone who could even sign one for the person on your gift list. :-)

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Tracy Farr is a teacher living in East Texas who drives a school bus for the fun of it. In his spare time he plays the banjo, but never on Thursdays. You can read more of his stories at www.stinkycreektexas.com.

Root Beer - The All American Drink

Here is another offering from my funny friend, Tracy Farr. He's not funny weird, although some may debate that, he just has a way with humor....


I’m flabbergasted! Totally, unequivocally flabbergasted. And if there be a word in the English language with a stronger meaning, then I’m that, too.

I went to an eating establishment recently, right here in East Texas, that did not have Root Beer on their menu. Let me repeat – They Had No Root Beer. Well, in my mind that’s absolutely unpatriotic; it’s downright subversive; it’s pert near communistic; and it’s on the verge of being positively draconian – but since I have no idea what that means, we’ll skip it for now.

Root Beer is one of those drinks that make this country a great place in which to live. Does Canada have Root Beer? Absolutely not. Does Great Britain? Heaven forbid. How about Iran? Are you kidding? They probably kill their people over there for drinking Root Beer, or at least pull out their tongues.

No, Root Beer is a God Bless American phenomenon that every man, woman and child in this great country should be thankful for having. It’s a western blessing, a true-blue American symbol of all things Yankee Doodle, and it should be revered just as much as baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and that car company that used to build pretty good cars, but then the economy tanked and who knows what they’re building now.

Root Beer, in some form or fashion, has been around for ages, but it was Charles Elmer Hires, a pharmacist from Philadelphia, who invented the very first commercial Root Beer in 1866 – Hires Root Beer.

“Hey, honey, come taste what I just came up with. Made it from roots, out in the garage. I was just fiddling around with some stuff, hoping to come up with a better paint cleaner, and out of the blue, I had Root Beer. You want to be my guinea pig and give it a taste? Oh, c’mon honey, I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

There are hundreds of varieties of Root Beer, but there are no standardized recipes. Artificial sassafras flavoring is the main ingredient, but after that, anything goes. Vanilla. Wintergreen. Licorice root. Nutmeg. Molasses. Even cherry tree bark. If it can be peeled off, dug up, squeezed, or melted down, it’s probably in your favorite brand of Root Beer. And in 1893, Frank J. Wisner found something even better to put in it.

Wisner, the owner of a soda company, was drinking a bottle of Myers Avenue Red Root Beer at his home in Cripple Creek, Colorado, when he looked up at Cow Mountain and saw the snow being lit by a full moon. In that instant, he had a great idea – let’s try floating a scoop of ice cream on top of a glass full of Root Beer.

And thus was born “The Black Cow.” Of course, you and I know it as a Root Beer Float.

I DARE YOU: The next time you’re at Sonic, I dare you, I triple-dog dare you, to push the little button and order a Black Cow. When the person responds that they don’t have a Black Cow, you be insistent and tell them you’re not going to leave without one. Of course, the person will once again deny even hearing of a Black Cow, and you respond, “Okay, just give me a Root Beer Float instead.” Yes, it’s a bit sophomoric, but do it anyway – in honor of that great inventor, Frank J. Wisner.

The thing I like most about Root Beer is that you can make it at home. Do you think you could make Coke or Pepsi in your own kitchen? Of course not. They’re too interested in keeping their formulas secret. That’s why the “Cola Wars” will never be won. There’s no such thing as a Root Beer war. Root Beer is Root Beer, and that’s what makes it great!

I would like to conclude with three of my favorite Root Beer quotes from three of my favorite historical figures:

It was Patrick Henry who said, “Give me Root Beer, or give me death” – or something like that.

It was Benjamin Franklin who said, “Root Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy” – if he didn’t say it, he meant to.

And it was Neil Armstrong who said, “That’s one small step for man; one giant Root Beer for me because I just love the stuff” – okay, I’m not so sure about that one.

Root Beer. It’s an American drink. So stand tall, stand proud, slurp it down with gusto, and don’t forget the frosted mug!

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Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

More Humor From Tracy Farr

Just had to share this latest from my friend, Tracy Farr. Maybe I related just a bit too much, especially about the cats....

If we could talk to the animals, I’d run!

While a lot of very intelligent people are weighing in on health care, socialized medicine and obscenely high insurance rates, cows don’t give it a second thought. In fact, I’m sure if you were to even mention those things to a cow, it would look you straight in the eye and say, “Moo,” and really mean it.

Cows chew their cud, swat at flies, and never once worry about the things we worry about – which makes them pretty smart in my opinion. Sure, they eventually end up tasting mighty delicious on a plate with a bit of A1 Sauce, but up until that very moment, they don’t have a care in the world.

Scientists are now discovering that a lot of animals, just like cows, are more intelligent than we originally thought. No, they’re not smart enough to get your kid an A in calculus, but neither am I, which doesn’t prove a thing, so let’s continue with some absolutely true stories about smart animals.

Did you hear the one about the bird and the worm? The worm was floating in a glass of water, but because the water level was too low, the bird couldn’t reach it. Scientists gave the bird some stones, and before you could say, “nevermore,” the bird dropped the stones in the water, raising the water level and bringing the worm within easy reach.

If scientists were to put me in a room with a pile of rocks and a vat of water, and floating on the water was a cheeseburger – medium well but slightly out of my reach – I doubt very seriously I’d think of using the rocks to raise the water level. I might jump in, especially if it was an Angus Burger, but using rocks is for the birds.

So, how did this bird get so smart? Is it possible a new species of thinking, reasoning creatures that are able to use new math are gathering just under our noses? And if they are, why can’t we smell them? Don’t ask me – go ask your mother.

And then there’s the story about the chimps that can make and use tools (I usually buy and lose mine). They make spears out of tree limbs, jab them into other creatures and then eat them – which makes me have “Planet of the Apes” nightmares because it sounds less like they’re making tools, and more like they’re making weapons.

Dolphins, on the other hand, are too sneaky to need tools.

A dolphin was trained to bring up trash from his tank. Whenever he brought up trash, he was fed a “treat.”. One day, when the tank looked clean, the dolphin appeared with trash in his mouth, got his treat, but raised the suspicion of his trainer. The trainer discovered that the dolphin had made a cache of trash. Not only that, but instead of bringing up whole pieces, he was tearing off just bits of the trash, thus making his cache a long-lasting stash of trash. And what did this prove? That dolphins are sneaky – didn’t I already say that?

Finally, there’s a cat in my house and goats in my yard that are living proof that animals are smarter than we give them credit for. The cat meows at the door and I get up to let her out. I don’t want to. I fight against it. But the cat has trained me so well that I just give in and do what I’m told. Life is so much easier (and there’s less cat poop on the carpet) when you do what you’re told.

As for the goats: When the goats get out of their pen, I rattle a bucket of feed at them, they start following me, and I feed them when they get back into their pen. But the last time they escaped, I only had cat food. When I rattled the cat food at them, they followed, but refused to eat it. Minutes later, the goats were out again, but when I rattled the cat food, they just stared at me as if they were saying, “Listen my fine fellow, your entrées are very upsetting to our stomachs and we prefer to dine instead on these succulent weeds and grasses. So be a good fellow, run along and make sure our Cadillac is ready when we are.”

It sounded a whole lot like, “Baaaaaah” to my ears – but what do I know? I’m not as smart as a goat!

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Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

Monday Morning Levity

It's been a while since I shared something from my friend, Tracy Farr, and this one had me laughing out loud. Maybe it was just me, but chances are you will find it funny, too.

The pert-near truth about daughters


I have a daughter. Chances are, you have a daughter, too. There’s a special room in heaven just waiting for us. It has a sign on the door that reads: “Shell Shock Recovery Room. No Sudden Loud Noises!”

I’m not an authority on daughters. I only have the one whereas you may have a whole herd of them. But I’m starting to understand some things that I’d like to pass on to those of you who have no daughters, but who really want a few because you’ve heard they’re always polite and never belch at the table (which is a total lie).

So, here’s what I’ve learned so far. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got:

1. All little girls want horses. They will not be denied. Sure, you could use the logical arguments of high cost, not having enough back yard to keep one, a horse’s pooper-scooper being called a shovel – but when it comes to horses, little girls don’t think logically. It’s best to buy them a subscription to a horse magazine and put off buying a real horse until they’re married and their husband can afford it.

If the subscription doesn’t work, maybe a stuffed animal or poster will do. If not, don’t blame me.

2. A daughter is born with a telephone attached to her left ear. You probably missed it on the day of her birth. Don’t feel bad, most parents do. But now that you see it, I would suggest subscribing to the “You’ve Got A Daughter” cell phone plan. Unlimited minutes, unlimited texting, no roaming charges, national and international coverage, nights & weekends, rollover minutes, and friendly customer service guaranteed for the life of your daughter. It will cost you $1.5 gazillion a year, but that’s a whole lot cheaper than if she “borrowed” your phone and sent her 30 best friends 1,000 text messages a day.

I guess you could get her a phone “only to be used in emergencies,” but a daughter’s definition of “emergency” is: “I haven’t talked to my BFFs for nearly 17 minutes. I must talk to them NOW or the world will come to an end.”

3. When your baby girl starts talking about needing to shave parts of her body, that’s when you need to start looking for a boat. It would be easier if you already had one, but sometimes it’s impossible to see the future through your daughter’s bright, girlish smiles and hugs that seem to say, “Daddy, I love you.”

WARNING: When your daughter gives you those bright, girlish smiles and hugs that seem to say, “Daddy, I love you,” she’s really setting you up for a trap. It’s just a ploy to get either a horse or to borrow one of your razors. Don’t fall for it. Be a man and buy the biggest boat you can afford. You’re going to be using it a lot, so you might as well be comfortable.

4. The menstrual cycle is a perfect excuse to go fishing on that brand new boat. If you have more than one “little girl” in the house, you get to fish twice as much. If you’re a man who has a hard time talking about “that time of the month,” join the rest of us out on the lake. We’ll be waiting for you by the dam.

5. One day your little girl is wearing pigtails, the next day she has boobs. Boobs attract boys; their brains short-circuit when confronted with cleavage; but boys understand shotguns and the damage they can inflict if they don’t steer clear of your little girl’s “blessings.” A daddy has to do what a daddy has to do – whether it be with .12 gauge or .24. And if the shotgun doesn’t do the trick, try the chainsaw.

6. Don't be sad when the day comes that you must “give your daughter away.” Just be thankful you don't have to pay someone to take her. Although, there are times when I think the dowry system of marriage should be revised. (Those times correspond to whenever the goats are out of their pen.)

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! all future suitable suitors for my daughter’s hand in matrimony. You are hereby informed that on the happy day of your union, not only will you receive my daughter and all the bills she’s run up over the years, but you’ll also receive three pygmy goats and their offspring, along with enough fencing material to keep them on your property and not on mine. I’ll even help load your truck at no extra charge.

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Tracy Farr is a musician and humorist, and in his spare time he drives a school bus. You can find more fun stuff at Stinky Creek , Texas

Something Different

It's been kind of a crazy day. Was waiting most of the day for people to come and install new flooring, and they got hung up on another job. Kind of disconcerting when you make plans and arrange your life around something that doesn't happen.

Plus, I was offline most of yesterday due to cable that had gotten cut somewhere between here and Dallas, so today I've been scrambling to get my office work done -- updating winnsborotoday.com writing a review and talking to folks about advertising. Then I realized I hadn't updated here in a couple of days.

With nothing new to add from me, I decided to post a link to a new feature my friend and fellow humorist, Tracy Farr, has started. He's doing podcasts he calls The Bathrobe Monologues and here is a link to his latest about beer.

To read more of his funny stuff, or connect to other humorous and musical offerings visit Stinky Creek Texas.