Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page 3

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=78 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mogswebsite.com"><U><IMG SRC="1768300c0.png" border=0 width="48" height="12" ALT="Home" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A><A HREF="id3.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Comprehensive Index"><U><IMG SRC="17698f0c0.png" border=0 width="143" height="12" ALT="Comprehensive Index" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A><A HREF="id8.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Mogs"><U><IMG SRC="176a3d0c0.png" border=0 width="61" height="12" ALT="Contact" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A><A HREF="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/MainGraphicsArea/" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/Main"><U><IMG SRC="176b4d0c0.png" border=0 width="77" height="12" ALT="Art Gallery" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A><A HREF="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/MOGSPart2/index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/MOGS"><U><IMG SRC="176c5e0d0.png" border=0 width="94" height="13" ALT="Photo Gallery" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A><A HREF="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/Interviews/" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://members.tripod.com/Mark4.Ram/Inte"><U><IMG SRC="176d4c0c0.png" border=0 width="76" height="12" ALT="Interviews" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U><IMG SRC="18aab0190.jpg" border=0 width="432" height="25" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></U></A></div> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FF0033" FACE="Arial" ><B>PAGE 3</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#CCCCFF" FACE="Arial" ><B>     </B></FONT><B>H </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#C0C0C0" FACE="Arial" ><B>= </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>Humor     </B></FONT><B>S </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#C0C0C0" FACE="Arial" ><B>= </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>Serious     </B></FONT><B>F </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#C0C0C0" FACE="Arial" ><B>= </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>Fiction     </B></FONT><B>NF </B><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#C0C0C0" FACE="Arial" ><B>= </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>NonFiction</B></FONT></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=402 BGCOLOR="#000000" TEXT="#F7F7FF"> <div> <FONT SIZE="1" COLOR="#FFCC33" FACE="Arial" ></FONT><B>  </B><B> <A NAME="the_woodford_archive"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></B></div> <div> <A HREF="#men_and_women_101" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>NEXT</U></A>   PREVIOUS     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A></div> <div> <FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC00CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>T</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC00FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>h</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC66CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>e</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC00FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B> </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC6699" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>W</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC00FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>o</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#9933CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>o</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#9933FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>d</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#9966FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>f</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#3399CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>o</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6699CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>r</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6699FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>d</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#CC00FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B> </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#6666FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>A</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#3366FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>rc</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0066FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>h</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0033FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>i</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0000FF" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>v</B></FONT><FONT SIZE="4" COLOR="#0000CC" FACE="Times New Roman" ><B>e</B></FONT>  <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#BBBBBB" FACE="Arial" ><B>  </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>F</B></FONT></div> <div> A Halloween Story...10/2000</div> <bR> <div>   As I returned home from the corner store after purchasing the daily newspaper, the sky was rumbling in the distance. Along the way I'd passed a man standing on his front porch with a weather radio. He shouted to me from the safety of his porch, "A storm's building in the southwest! Two counties over!"  I offered a reply, but the wind seemed to carry my words elsewhere. I'd been traveling by foot, walking at a brisk pace trying to stay one step ahead of the developing storm.</div> <bR> <div>    The sky wasn't nearly as threatening when I'd left for the store, but during the walk home the wind began pressing the trees into unnatural twists and bends, violently forcing them to take respectful bows toward the ground.</div> <bR> <div>    When I reached my front door the wind had picked up even more. I had to assist the screen door, making sure it latched. Once inside, I fumbled for the wall switch to light my reading area. The reading area consisted of an old wooden chair, a cushion, and a floor lamp. The calm warmth of the house comforted my chilled bones as I sat down and began thumbing through the newspaper. The front page headline read,"Woodford House Sparks Stories of Ghosts!"  Being somewhat stunned, I quickly scanned the article for facts.The story was rather incomplete in it's coverage. The article was obviously written by some fly-by-night-wannabe-reporter with a secondhand education in journalism who's goal in life must have been being a small town newspaper reporter. How dare some newcomer report on the Woodford House so casually!  I stood up in disgust, tossing the newspaper aside. To my dismay, the newspaper landed with the Woodford article facing me... I stood there staring at the front page. Was it trying to tell me something?</div> <bR> <div>     All I could discern from the vaguely written article was that strange sightings were taking place at the old Woodford property.  Why should I care?  After All, Old Man Woodford's been gone for over forty years and I'm no longer on the town board. I'd given up my county seat shortly after retirement. Could the old place be up for sale? That, I did find strange! There's not many things that change in this little town and the old Woodford place has been empty for years!</div> <bR> <div>    My next order of business would be researching the archives, the Woodford archives. Sort of brush up on the old Woodford place and refresh my memory of that beloved old house. My Grandpappy played cards there one night a week for as long as I could remember. It was a local tradition. Everyone knew where to find Grandpappy and his buddies on a Friday night.</div> <bR> <div>    I walked over to the dusty barrister bookcase and observed a moment of silent meditation. The book I was after hadn't been stirred in over thirty years. The books in the old case were protected by glass panels that stood guard across each shelf, protecting the resources it contained from the elements. Most of the books in the case were pleasant reading. It mainly held some old-time novels, a couple of old school books, and a few tractor and seed catalogs. But the book that contained old newspaper clippings about the Woodford place dealt with the sudden disappearance of Old Man Woodford.</div> <bR> <div>    After taking a deep breath, I slowly raised the wooden framed glass panels that protected an assortment of neatly arranged books on the third shelf. The panel opened with an eerie, all most mournful sound. The wooden peg hinges had absorbed the humid air from last evening's rain. As a fine strand of cobweb stretched across the bookcase opening, I slid the framed glass panel back and into it's overhead track, allowing me easy access to the protected books. I gently removed the old book from it's secure place, the book that contained the clippings.</div> <bR> <div>    Another storm warning was scrolling just below the picture on the old black and white oval screened Zenith. The snowy static riddled picture made it impossible to read the counties. That in itself indicated the storm had arrived at our little town. The moment I sat down and cracked the book containing the news clippings, the lights began to flicker. There were four flickers that night before the electricity went out. There I sat. Me, holding an old book, sitting in the dark. I was holding a book full of newspaper clippings that few even knew existed.</div> <bR> <div>    On the tail of an intrusive crack of thunder, a zap of lightning bounced off the walls looking like a negative from a photo. It showcased a floor lamp, a bookcase, and an old Zenith, sitting atop an equally old wire stand. Only seconds had passed when another bolt of lightning bore through the room. There was a loud pop as the television slowly faded on. I glanced around the room, but nothing else was on. Maybe the bulb in the floor lamp had blown. I tried the porch light, but had the same result. The electricity hadn't been restored, yet the television came on. I could hear the "Twilight Zone" theme song playing in my head...</div> <bR> <div>    A trembling chill ran through me as Rod Sterling slowly made his way to center stage on the lit screen. This time however, there wasn't any snow in the picture and no static whatsoever! If that wasn't weird enough, a Storm Warning was still scrolling across the bottom of the screen, yet this time it was scrolling a different message. It was scrolling an alternating text. First, the word Woodford, next the word, Shotgun!</div> <bR> <div>    The next thing I knew, Rod Sterling orated, "A man, a book of local history, and a thunderstorm...Meet, Mr. Claypool...An ordinary man, retired from an ordinary job, living in the small northern town of Pepper Hill...Mr. Claypool is a man who held out...A man who held a secret journal that he'd never shared...He'd never shared, until he found himself, in "The Twilight Zone."</div> <bR> <div>    The rain pounded the asphalt roof, each drop pounding louder than the one before. The thunder and lightning was like something out of a scary novel. Suddenly, the television screen went black!</div> <bR> <div>    My eyes soon adjusted to the darkness once again offering me vague shapes in my cloaked surroundings. I couldn't pry myself from that old wooden chair! I just sat there trying to digest what I'd just witnessed. My heart was beating at an acceleration previously unknown to me and trails of sweat streaming down my face. I was afraid to even move. After the last droplet of sweat patiently found it's way to my chin, falling to rest on my collar, a loud BANG echoed from the rear of the property!</div> <bR> <div>   The noise startled me out of a strange stupor which held me captive in it's grip. When I jumped up, the book that held the Woodford news clippings fell to the floor. It fell open to a chapter titled, "October Madness"   To this day I don't remember such a chapter even existing! Yet there it was, directly in front of me, the words almost animated.</div> <bR> <div>    <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FF9966" FACE="Arial" >As if told to do so, I turned toward the rain splattered window and there stood, just beyond the glass, a shape. The shape was large. An old truck was turning into the alley, headlamps casting a three-quarter glare across the window, revealing the large shape. Standing there, with only rippled float glass between us, was OLD MAN WOODFORD! He'd been dead for years! Old Man Woodford was an older man when he disappeared more than forty years ago! The glare from the headlamps gave way to darkness as the truck's engine stalled.</FONT></div> <bR> <div>    I thought of my Grandpappy's old shotgun, resting just behind the closet door. It hadn't been fired since deer season last year, but I always kept it loaded. While facing the closet, there was a knock at the outside door! I noticed the window was no longer obscured by Old Man Woodford! The squeaking of an old rusty door could be heard coming from the stalled truck. Another truck pulled into the side field! As the rain poured harder than ever, I knew I had to make a decision as to which door to run for. I could go for the shotgun, but what if he came up behind me?</div> <bR> <div> Trucks continued to line up in the field. Who were they? Were they after Old Man Woodford? Were they after me? Did Old Man Woodford bring a truckload of Zombies with him?</div> <bR> <div>    A new sound muffled the pouring rain, it was the sound of a chain saw. There was much yelling. Another knock rapped at the outside door. What was happening? And why was it happening tonight? I was trapped in torment, wondering what to do. I was breaking for the closet to grab the shotgun, but I stopped. The events were unfolding so fast!</div> <bR> <div>    "I'm a GOOD MAN!" I shouted, as if it even mattered.</div> <bR> <div>    The fumes from the buzzing chain saws were now seeping into my house. The yelling out in the field continued. The knocks were becoming more forceful with each blow to the outside door!</div> <bR> <div>    "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" I screamed, as I threw the outside door open.</div> <bR> <div>    Shouting above a crack of thunder, the figure retaliated, "I'm JED WOODFORD!</div> <bR> <div>    "You owe me NOTHING," I yelled into the night.</div> <bR> <div>    The sounds of yelling and chain saws in action continued.</div> <bR> <div>   "Gunther Woodford's son," the voice screamed at me.</div> <bR> <div>    Exhausted, I managed to exclaim, "What do you want from me?"</div> <bR> <div>    The man tried again, "Jed Woodford!  I'm Jed Woodford from Pepper Hill Electric! That old Walnut tree's fallen down over your power lines! Three other farms are without electric! It must have been struck by lightning," he added. "I've got a crew here trying to get your power restored!"</div> <bR> <div>    Now standing in the middle of my rain soaked yard. as drenched as a hunting dog in a pond, I grinned as I thought about the shotgun in the closet. You see, my Grandpappy had won that gun in a card game from OLD MAN WOODFORD!</div> <bR> <div>    That night, my electric was restored while Jed and I talked. We perked two pots of coffee while reminiscing. I shared with him some things few people even knew about. We both laughed through the card game story where Grandpappy had left with Gunther's shotgun. I feared there'd be two dead Woodfords after telling Jed that Grandpappy's hand was a bluff! I don't believe I'd seen a man laugh any harder than Gunther's son had laughed that night.</div> <bR> <div>    As Jed read that day's newspaper article about the strange sightings at the Woodford House, I sat there amazed at how Jed had grown into the old man's face. Jed shared with me how his father had left the country while working in the shipping industry. A job offer had come up that he couldn't refuse. He was getting up in years and he had to act fast. Come to find out, the old homestead had been tied up in court every since his father died. Jed had gone to a private school in the east at an early age. Jed was several years older than I and we'd never met until that night. After he graduated, he went to work at a local utility company as an engineer. He lived there for fifty two years until he returned to the old Woodford Place. He explained that a local resident had wondered onto the property shortly after his return and swore they'd seen Old Man Woodford in the flesh! He laughed, "It's October, you know!" He continued, "S-P-O-O-K-Y!"</div> <bR> <div>     Jed Woodford left my house that evening with his daddy's shotgun in his hands. I'd just met the man, but somehow I knew that old shotgun was where it should be. A certain bond had brought new light to that dark, stormy night. Earlier that day we were nothing more than two strangers that'd never met. That evening we departed, knowing we'd become old friends.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> - The End -</div> <bR> <div>        <I>- (c) 2000 Mogs</I></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" > <A NAME="men_and_women_101"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></FONT><A HREF="#research_and_development" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>NEXT</U></A>     <A HREF="#the_woodford_archive" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PREVIOUS</U></A>     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A>     <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A></div> <div> <B>Men and Women 101</B><B>    </B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>H</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>A Learning Experience:</B></div> <bR> <div>   I went to a building supply store the other day to purchase a submersible pump. No big deal, I'd be in and out in no time. I knew that to be the case because I was on the clock and this pump was being purchased for a piece of equipment that was down. I walked in through the center set of doors, one of three entrances to the store.</div> <bR> <div>   As soon as I entered the store, I asked a salesclerk where I'd find submersible pumps.</div> <bR> <div>    She answered, "What type of pump are you looking for?"</div> <bR> <div>   I thought to myself, submersible!</div> <bR> <div>   She continued, "Are you looking for a sump pump or a different style?"</div> <bR> <div>   I answered, "The type of pump used in a fountain or an outdoor pond."</div> <bR> <div>   I wasn't going to use it for either application but that is the type of pump used for this particular machine. She quickly and courteously sent me in the direction of the garden center and even told me what aisle I would find them on. I was impressed, as her directions were right on target and most helpful.     </div> <bR> <div>   I looked over the assortment of pumps that they had in stock. They didn't stock the brand I had in mind so I mentally compared price and features as to the style I was replacing. With a pump in hand, I made my way to the other end of the store where the checkout registers were. I must have passed four lanes that weren't open. They had one lane open with five people in line so I continued walking to the rear of the store until I reached the contractor's checkout. This is my preferred checkout line most of the time anyhow.</div> <bR> <div>   As I made my way to the checkout counter, a man was already there having his purchase scanned and checked out. I formed what would turn out to be a line of three customers. The man was purchasing nine corrugated underground drain pipes, all bundled together, and a few other related items. Each item had their bar coded sticker on it and the checkout process was going smoothly. To my surprise, maybe even yours, the man's checkout experience went as smooth as a rock. A rock that's long been lying, beneath the rapid current of a mountain stream. On the slim chance you've never taken notice of such rocks, they have an exaggerated, almost polished smoothness about them. Over time, water is a powerful force of nature. Consider for a moment the havoc that water can bring about in a flash flood.</div> <bR> <div>   Enough already about flash floods and rocks ... She hit the total key and relayed the amount to him. He paid and began the awkward task of carrying his purchases to the truck parked just beyond the overhead door which connected that end of the building with the outdoors. I had been standing there with my purchase thinking how smooth everything was going. Attention hadn't been paid to the fact that she had left the counter and offered the gentleman help in getting the awkward bundle of drain pipes to his truck. I usually feel no great need to concern myself with other people's purchases and this time was no different. All I was concerned about was the fact that I was next in line to be checked out. </div> <bR> <div>   I placed my submersible pump on the counter and as she began to ring it up she asked me this question.</div> <bR> <div>   "What IS IT about you guys?" she questioned me.</div> <bR> <div>   "What?" I asked.</div> <bR> <div>   "What IS IT about you guys that you can't accept help from a woman?" she informed me.</div> <bR> <div>   "I haven't said anything" ... I responded.</div> <bR> <div>   She looked at me with a puzzled expression and continued, "Why are you men SO AFRAID that a woman might help you pack something?"</div> <bR> <div>   She didn't immediately come across as a person with a chip on their shoulders, but rather a person who felt betrayed. Hurt.  Hurt, that her offer of assistance wasn't accepted. Since I have no formal training in such matters of the heart, after all I'm a man ...</div> <bR> <div>   I then said, "Here, you can scan this item for me!"</div> <bR> <div>   Again, she offered, "I don't understand why you men are SO afraid that a woman might help you!"</div> <bR> <div>   Upon completion of the sales transaction, I responded, "You can pack this out to the car for me if you like." I continued, "I really don't mind!"</div> <bR> <div>   The next words from her mouth were, "Let's not go OVERBOARD here!" she laughingly responded.</div> <bR> <div>   I said, "Well, if you're SO set on helping a man ... Take this out to the car for me."</div> <bR> <div>   A note of interest might be the fact that I was on foot and hadn't driven there. My job was just across the parking lot from this location and I already knew that she had no interest in carrying my purchase to a car. Not to lessen the sincerity of her previous offer I sounded very sincere, but why on earth would I need assistance with a little submersible pump?</div> <bR> <div>   We shared a laugh that day ... Hey, I offered her hope for the male species! </div> <bR> <div>   Little did this woman know that she was close to discovering one of the unwritten rules of being a man ... One of our codes of honor. That rule is, never let another man see you getting assistance from a woman. And NEVER cause a fellow man to have to wait in line!</div> <bR> <div>   Hauling a heavy load when other men are present is a MUST! This applies even more when a woman is present! Yep, drive straight to the chiropractor afterward if you must, but at least you're out of sight and they'll never know!</div> <bR> <div>   Often, one of the first questions that the doctor will ask is, "Was a woman present?"</div> <bR> <div>   You can then puff up and reply, Yep! ... It was a HEAVY load too!" as you smile with this an almost silly sense of pride!</div> <bR> <div>   At what point in a man's life these rules and codes becomes enforceable varies greatly, but these laws are always respected. Silly as it sounds, there's more honor to be gained than there are laws and backs to be broken in this respect. </div> <bR> <div>   Now don't think that you can go to your local hardware store and buy the rule and code book on being a man. You won't even find a book like this at your local bookseller. To put it mildly, they're not in print anywhere. And that's the very tactic that has kept this information from falling into the wrong hands ... Honor amongst men. Men don't question it, men don't even discuss it! Men respect these unwritten laws and codes.</div> <bR> <div>   I suppose that I could write a book on why men don't discuss their feelings, but being a man, I haven't the least desire to do so. It's a man thing ... Anyone should be able to understand that!</div> <bR> <div>   Let me say something about the basic concept though, it's ingenious by all standards and it's stood the test of time. Here it is in layman's terms ... "Don't Ask!" Yep, that's the bond that hold men together. We don't need teas, shopping sprees, telephones or anything else. This is the man's secret to relationships, friendships, and even hardships. So the next time you want to know what a man feels about something, don't ask. Sure, you can ask him what he thinks about stuff, but never ask how he feels about something! For me to say anymore would be in direct violation of our unwritten code of honor. And that trust, I will not compromise.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <I>- (c) 2000 Mogs</I></div> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" > <A NAME="research_and_development"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></FONT><A HREF="#my_winter_canvas" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>NEXT</U></A>     <A HREF="#men_and_women_101" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PREVIOUS</U></A>     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A>     <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A></div> <div> <B>Research and Development</B><B>    </B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>H, NF</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div>    I was pondering over some resources the other day and ran across some advertising information. It listed money spent on advertising during January through December of 1998. It was divided into categories of most every type of business. Automotive companies spent over $14,000,000.00 combined, in advertising. That figure covered everything from television ads to various forms of printed material.</div> <bR> <div>    A total of $79,312,048.00 was spent on advertising by all types of businesses combined during 1998 including the auto industry. This breaks down to $6,609,337.33 per month that companies had spent on advertising. To further break it down, that's $1,525,231.69 per week and $217,293.282 per day, all spent on promoting their products. For some strange reason I'm hearing Will Rogers in the background saying, "If companies spent as much on improving their products as they do on advertising their products, they wouldn't have to advertise their products!"</div> <bR> <div>    Shall we focus only on the auto makers that are spending that 14 million dollars a year on advertising their cars? If people would just go out and purchase their cars without the dreams of driving on the Autobahn and entering the truckathalon, the sticker price on these new automobiles could come down. Notice I didn't say that the prices would come down, I simply said that they could come down. But that's way too easy. The general public likes to be pampered and has let the industry talk them into thinking that they need nothing less than the best, in the way of options. Nowadays, having a cell phone isn't enough. No, you also need an onboard GPS in your car. But that's not quite enough either, you also need to be linked to a central information headquarters via satellite manned by real live people waiting to take your every call and hear your woes. And we've earned the right to get into our cars during the dead of winter without freezing our butts off. We need those heated seats! We've earned them!</div> <bR> <div>    And who amongst us should have to put up with a passenger that's in dire distress over the environmental comfort zone that you the driver have chosen? Heck no, that'd be way too much trauma for anyone! Enter, the dual climate comfort zone control system that's now available on many cars. And why have we been required for so long to move our seats forward or backward in order to reach the pedals? That's cruel and unusual punishment. Punishment that we've had to endure for too many years simply because we'd bought their cars. Well it's about time... You can now adjust the pedals to meet your feet! OK, I'll admit this innovation might have some merit, after all maybe it is safer if your seat is in it's normal position in your automobile. But then, what is the normal position? Is there actually a height, weight and age chart within the owner's manual addressing this issue? And if so, who reads them?</div> <bR> <div>    Here's another thought, how long did the auto industry expect us to endure buckling our own shoulder straps?  How have we been getting around all of these years? How slighted we've allowed ourselves to be for the last forty years or so. But once again, the industry listened to us. We now have automatic shoulder straps on many models. There was one small problem with those automatic shoulder straps, you were still required to fasten your own seat belts. I won't go into the aspect of what can happen, during an accident, when a person has their shoulder strap automatically fastened, yet the person doesn't bother to fasten their seat belt.</div> <bR> <div>    One of the truly needed innovations resulting from their research and development is a little feature that more and more auto makers are adding to their cars. I can't begin to tell you how excited I am that I no longer have to wash my headlights after an outing. How time consuming it has always been for me. Not to mention the fact that washing my car's headlights was the last thing that I wanted to do after a return trip from the grocery. But there I'd be, washing those headlights as soon as I finished packing in the groceries. Nowadays a person doesn't have to be bothered with such  tasks. If you've got the money, your automobile will have headlight wipers and washers, installed from the factory as standard equipment. Life is so much easier and more rewarding when you have money.</div> <bR> <div>    But auto research and technology didn't stop there! Enter the 1990s, the year that you no longer have to worry about such maintenance as stereo system upkeep. Yep, many tape players now remind you that it's time to run the head cleaner cassette through it's system. Once again, our lives are getting so much easier. Thank you, Detroit, because gone, are the days that we have to lug around those cumbersome log books that we'd stash over the visions, logging our stereo cassette playing time. What a relief!</div> <bR> <div>    Remember a few years ago when the focal point of automotive advertising was the fact that their vehicles had 47 built-in cup holders? I'm of the opinion that if you're traveling down the road with 47 open containers, maybe the bigger problem might be as to where those 46 people are sitting ... Maybe that's where Ford's new Excursion comes in! Regardless, I'm just glad that the automotive industry has finally awakened to our most basic and primal, pampered needs.</div> <bR> <div>    All things said and done, auto makers have brought about several positive innovations through their research and development and apparently they've listened to their consumers a few times as well. And I tip my hat to them for listening to us! However, had they sincerely been listening to me, we wouldn't be paying $23,000.00 and up, for good, reliable, comfortable transportation to work. Myself, I could do with a few less bells and whistles and a little lower price tag.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> - <I>(c) 2000 Mogs</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" > <A NAME="my_winter_canvas"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></FONT><A HREF="#house_of_blues" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>NEXT</U></A>     <A HREF="#research_and_development" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PREVIOUS</U></A>     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A>     <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A></div> <div> <B>My</B><B> Winter </B><B>Canvas</B><B>    </B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>S, NF</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div> Allow me to paint a backdrop with some of my thoughts and we'll proceed from there. Several times I've been told that I ought to write a novel. Several times, in this case, equals more than once but less than five times. I've often wondered what the magical number is. How many times should you be told this before considering the idea as having possible merit? Confession is good for the soul and I must confess, I've wanted to write a book for twenty-five years or more, but I'm not a writer. I'd like to be, a few times I've tried to be, but I'm not a writer. The world's worst grammar award could be presented to me with all sincerity, not to mention runner up for the world's worst speller. Still, all these years, it's been on my mind, but the concern has always been one of subject matter. What would I write about and why would anyone want to read it? That's as far as it's ever gone, a buried thought, in the back of my mind. </div> <bR> <div> Growing up, I always enjoyed the outdoors and we had plenty of room to run around in and be creative. Our house sat on one of two large lots. In general, property lots were much bigger in those days, our yard had over a dozen trees. Much of my youth was spent climbing those trees. I was consumed with an urge to climb every tree in the yard at least once. Of course I had my favorites that I climbed regularly. I knew no fear of heights in those days, I thrived on climbing to the top of a tree and being able to view my whole world from there! I was much more excited about this aspect of outdoor fun than my mother was, but for me, it was the best combination of gymset/monkeybar a kid could ever wish for. Just off the beaten path, at the other end of the street, was a wooded area. Looking back on this as an adult, I believe every kid should have a neighborhood woods to play in too. Many wars are won in the woods and much can be learned about nature, including Poison Ivy and poison Oak. More than one problem got settled in the woods too. Clubhouses aren't where it's all at, sure they serve their purpose, but a kid needs more space to grow.</div> <bR> <div> My dad was an avid camper and we spent the summers visiting different parks, usually in our tri-state area. So my visual love of nature's beauty is primarily based in my early exposure to the great outdoors. What fond memories I'll always have of those days of camping. My enthusiasm for camping continued on into my teens and early twenties. During those years, the weekends were often a time to get away from it all and retreat by going camping. When you're out in the woods, the concrete and the troubles of the world are placed somewhere behind a tree that you'll never happen across. The everyday problems of life are washed downstream to the sounds of wildlife and just seem to disappear when surrounded by the wonder of nature. Those feelings are hard to put on paper, but I suppose most people use something as a retreat from the daily grind.</div> <bR> <div> In my earlier years of camping my shelter was in the form of a tent, in the latter years, I'd just back my Datsun B210 coupe under a tree next to a picnic table for my cooler connivence and at nightfall, I'd sleep on a picnic table under the stars. I still have a fondness for the outdoors, although my time spent there has diminished somewhat over the years.  </div> <bR> <div> Along with reminiscing about camping, the idea of attempting a novel is stimulating, but so is watching a good movie, but I'm no film maker either. This being said, a few years ago, I set out to make a film. It was in the cold of winter. In fact, the two days that I filmed were two of the coldest days we had that winter. It was subzero temperatures that I was dealing with, but my spirit was never dampened.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> A portion of the backdrop has been painted and shades of color are starting to mingle and blend this story into a picture. The picture I'm starting to see is one of a motivated man with a camcorder, a remote, a tripod, a bag of VHS-C video tapes and a couple of days to film. Technically speaking, I imagine it'd be called videotaping instead of filming and I know that, but you need to understand where I was coming from. For me ... It was my chance to write, produce, direct and even edit my own film. And with a film that had nature itself as the star, I felt good about this project. I went into this project with success being my goal.</div> <bR> <div> The snow had been falling steadily for two days, the temperature had dropped and work was slow as well. The subzero temperatures provided very little moisture in the air and produced a dry, powdery, snowfall. It's been several years and I couldn't begin to give you an accurate snowfall amount for that week, but the ground was completely covered for days. It was moderately deep for this part of the country. When the snow finally stopped, the sun came out two days later. The videotaping began on day one after the snow stopped. There were only a few signs of life peaking through the glistening snow, aside from trees and very few interruptions were in the white canvas due to the extreme temperatures. An occasional bird track could be spotted but very few tracks from people or even dogs.</div> <bR> <div> A decision had already been made as to where I was going to start this winter project. I choose a park with a lake. The park was on the outskirts of town but covered many acres. It had a nice blend of scenic terrain. There were open spaces, wooded areas and of course the lake. Any one of those areas could be uniquely framed and offer interesting photo opportunities. Near the entrance of the park, there's an old tobacco barn on the edge of a farm, surrounded by black wood fencing. On that day, the farm property had a natural contrast against the white snow.</div> <bR> <div> People were staying inside, even the youngsters were limiting their time outdoors. Even for me, exposure became extremely difficult after five to ten minutes. Although I was dressed in layers and wore thermal lined gloves, I spent my time outside of the car in brief shifts. For all practical purposes, the park was undisturbed and thus, the snow was undisturbed too. There were short periods of sunshine casting it's gleam across the frozen landscape and the powdery snow sparkled like diamonds, one of the more beautiful snows that I've ever been in. Imagine a blanket of diamonds below your feet and as far as your eyes could see. It was a filmmaker's dream.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Now, we'll add some foreground images to the backdrop we're painting. I owned a rear wheel drive automobile at the time and when I cleared the snow from the windows that morning, I packed a mound of snow on the deck lid for added weight over the drive train. I knew there'd be very little traffic on the roads back in the park and I needed all of the traction I could get. If I were to get stuck, who would be there to help me. It was too cold to be taking unnecessary chances, I also tossed a shovel in the trunk. The park is located about four miles from where I live and there were few cars on the road that day. Upon arrived at the park, I learned the additional weight over the rear axle wasn't such a bad idea, as I blazed my own trails on a few of the back roads in the park.</div> <bR> <div> I started choosing subjects soon after I entered the park. I was in an open area surrounded by a huge field and a line of trees showing over the ridge of a gentle roll in terrain. I setup the tripod, mounted the camcorder, framed a few scenes and started deciding on angles for my shots, I wouldn't be outside for long though. I had to remove my gloves a few times, those little buttons on a compact camcorder aren't meant to be operated with thermal lined gloves on and operating the remote wasn't much easier. Quickly, I returned to the car with camcorder in hand. I was shaking and swiftly pulled off my gloves and ventured to warm my aching hands next to the windshield over the defroster. My hands were literally throbbing with pain from the cold. I sat there for a few minutes, hands over the defroster and the pain soon subsided. Once I could focus beyond the warmth of the windshield defroster, I returned to scouting the area for a good scene to capture on tape.  I'd made some progress on my first exit from the car, I had a shot in mind, but now I needed to decide on the best possible angle. This would be the task at hand on my next exit from the amiable car.</div> <bR> <div> Between lining up the shot, zooming in on a line of trees during one part of it and panning the area, about 10 minutes were spent out of the car this time. As the day would progress, my endurance of the bitter cold would make progress as well. At no time did I spend more than twenty minutes or so gathering ideas and videotaping, before heading back to the car for momentary periods of warmth. During the two day project, my car was my refuge.</div> <bR> <div> I trekked over the layer of sparkling frozen snow and found a briskly flowing natural spring winding it's way through the heart of the field. The temperatures hadn't been at this point on the mercury long enough to bring the spring to a halt. The temperature of the flowing water was warmer than the surrounding air and as the spring chartered it's winding course through the snow covered field, the snow gently folded down to meet the spring at it's edges, creating a smooth downward curve, both sides of the current. I had found the next focus of interest for my "film."</div> <bR> <div> Much of the time, I'd have to turn off the auto focus function of the camcorder. There was simply too much white and the sky was overcast on day one of my adventure. I soon found out there would be much more involved than merely setting up shots and deciding the best ways to videotape the scenes. The auto focus function on the camcorder would figure into theses scenes also. The gray sky almost blended with the snow at the horizon and the auto focus would go in and out, trying to determine what it was focusing on. There was too little contrast on that overcast day. But the stark contrast of the spring and the snow around it, allowed me to use the auto focus and zoom out on this shot. What an interesting shot it turned out to be. I zoomed all the way in on the stream for a time, watching the water make it's journey, it looked so much bigger through the eyepiece during this close-up view.  As I panned and zoomed away from the spring, it put things into a different perspective. How small, yet determined and mighty, was that trickle of water winding through the vast field.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> I took refuge in my car once more and traveled deeper into the park. I had some nice open shots and now I wanted some contrasts to keep the movie interesting, I needed a variety of textures and wanted to show the snow in all it's glory. A break in the white would meet those requirements.</div> <bR> <div> As I traveled along the narrow road, I came across the trees that were stretching to be noticed, even from the entrance of the park. They seemed to act as a dividing line for the next portion of the park. They weren't all clumped together, they seemed to form more of an open wall spanning across the snow covered earth to another section of road. That proved to be the next stop on my cold, visual journey. These were big trees and they wore the winter well. From the ground, the huge limbs hid part of the snow that capped the upper portions of their roundness and there were unusual twists at one of the forks on the tree closest to me. Looking back, I may have focused on these trees for longer than necessary, but I think it offered a transition from the massive white that covered the field. This portion of videotaping would serve as an introduction to some of the textures of winter, such as the mix of snow and wood which create contrasting blends of dark and light.</div> <bR> <div> Once again, I needed warmth for my cold bones, especially my extremities. I sat in the car for a while and drove further back in the park, I was now in the wooded area. My mind was racing with images as I would scope the area around me. What would I videotape next? There were so many images I could capture and store in that small plastic case inside my camcorder containing the almost magical, magnetic tape. At that time, I needed to take pause to take it all in, gather my thoughts on subject matter and also, I needed to extend that pause for my own warmth.</div> <bR> <div> In keeping true with the project, I'll take pause and gather my thoughts on the story. While I'm doing that, here's an interest tidbit about VHS-C camcorders as opposed to their 8 mm opponents. The VHS-C format allows the user an option not readily available to the 8 mm format. VHS-C camcorders record two distinct tracks, one for video and one for audio, this allows for easy editing of sight and sound. This function would be utilized when editing my tape. Yes, the second step of this winter project would be adding the background music to my winter canvas. Music has long been a part of my life and I've accumulated a comfortable library of recordings. Everything from rock to classical, from blues to jazz and even a few categories in-between. Several years ago, I completed my home music system by adding a mixer. It would aid me once I started editing the videotapes. I knew the editing would be quite satisfying also. And the editing would have the added bonus of being done in the warmth of my home.</div> <bR> <div> The time spent in the warmth of the car, provided a nice break for me, but it was time to continue videotaping. The sky still possessed a cold, hazy gray hue, never letting me forget the chill of winter and opening the car door had it's own version of reminding me. I was standing next to a growth of twisted, stretching, vines and small trees that I had been studying from inside the car. That patch of growth would be the next point of light on my mental story board. They were all intertwined, you could hardly separate one from another. The branches looked much smaller than they really were due to snow covering the tops of them. I suppose it helped exaggerate the image of slender chaos that bound these images together.</div> <bR> <div> Like some other scenes, I'd already taped, this scene called for a fade in. I set the lens at maximum zoom and set the camcorder to fade and pressed the record button. Slowly, the scene began appearing in front of my eyes through the black and white viewfinder. In the monotone colors of winter, I never missed the notion of a color viewfinder. During the next hour, I would find several more scenes combining wood and snow and each of them would be captured on that color capable, magnetic wonder called videotape.</div> <bR> <div> Not too far down the road, there was a low lying area that had turned into a winter marsh. Several natural springs from the gradually sloped hill above, converged on this site. It wasn't a large area, maybe a quarter acre or less and the temperatures of the water melted the snow in it's paths. There was a constant intertwining of the natural spring waters and it created small, individual puffs of white all over the ground. As if the springs had branched out at least a hundred times, creating a network of veins sprawling across the land. The snow took on a pillow effect and made for an unusual effect. There was almost a pattern to the clumps of snow sitting at the intersections of that network of waterways.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> The lake. A sheet of stillness. One of the fascinating things about photography is the fact that pictures are there for you to take. Potential images require you to see not only what they are, but what they could be. It might be as simply as a row of posts lining a country road. Your choice of framing, angle, use of available light and determining the correct focal point, all work together to create a composition and a moment that can last you a lifetime.</div> <bR> <div> Potential pictures are all around you. It doesn't matter the time of year, the time of day, or where you are and it doesn't necessarily matter what kind of camera you have. Sure, an expensive camera with lots of features and different lenses can open even more doors for you, but many a moment can be captured if you can just see the picture. To embellish what I'm talking about, I'm reminded of an old saying, "You can't see the forest for the trees." I'll attempt a connection to that old saying with the following reasoning. To realize the pictures that are all around you, allow yourself the luxury of having your cake and eating it too. In other words, start seeing both the forest AND the trees. When you can do that, the scenes will start appearing right before your eyes, and they'll do so, no matter where you go.</div> <bR> <div> After completing the videotaping of the wooded areas, I finally arrived at the park's lake. That spot would offer a whole new contrast of patterns and textures, waiting to be confronted and dealt with.</div> <bR> <div> There's something profound about the pronounced flatness of a frozen body of water. Perhaps it's the inner knowledge of knowing that the earth is round, yet the flatness before you, goes against that very logic. There are no ripples from a breeze. There's no origins of the almost endless rings that'll circle out from a momentary surfacing of a fish. There's a magnetism that captures the mind and the eyes when looking at a sheet of stillness.</div> <bR> <div> Could this be a small element of why we have four seasons? Does it help to mold us in wisdom just as much as it causes changes in nature? Could that be part of the plan? We're talking about one body of water with two different personalities, depending on how it's effected by temperature. You can be surrounded by the same thing and it will change in appearance and often change in priorities, according to the season. Maybe part of the purpose is to help us see things in a different way. We've thought about some of the same things, yet we've pondered them from a different perspective, offering us deeper insight and hopefully a better understanding. Maybe the different seasons are a part of our being, as a whole and another aspect of what makes us well rounded individuals. Consider then, that the rounded corners on our building blocks of knowledge are sharpened a little with each passing season.</div> <bR> <div> That day, I was standing beside a large, still, body of water. It wasn't getting any warmer outside so I had to abandon my reflective thoughts and continue with the task at hand. As I visually scanned the frozen landscape, I started picking out reference points. I spotted a small square platform on the backside of the lake's bend. The ice had a solid grip on all four corners and the distant wooden platform was held firmly in place even though the chain which anchored it to a nearby tree showed obvious signs of slack in the tension.</div> <bR> <div> The snow was frozen in place that day. In some places, using careful steps, you could walk on the white surface with out breaking through. But the snow originally came down in a dry powder, the evidence was on the ice. You could see where the snow had blown across the iced water. There were patches of translucent bluish gray ice where the snow had been blown around on the frozen lake. All in all, the lake had a very cold and isolated feel about it. Closer to me, I could see tiny bird prints in the blown snow closest to the bank. It was whimsical at times, following the prints that the bird had left as it scampered across the ice. Just to the left of me was another small dock extending out from the bank. It was a wood planked platform with a quarter to half an inch between each board. The snow had piled high on the boards and as it drifted, the excess fell between the cracks leaving rounded rows of snow about five to six inches deep. The sun made a brief appearance once and the trees overhead then cast oblique shadows across the snow covered rows of boards. So many things to try and get on tape, but the sunshine wouldn't last.</div> <bR> <div> I finished the first day of videotaping at the lake. It was time to go home, thaw out and put the project to rest for a few hours. The next day, I'd start again.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> The last thing I want to do is sound cliché, but I know no other way to describe the picture I'm trying to paint, the sun was shining and the reflection from the snow was sparkling like fine cut diamonds. It was as thought the sky had been snowing glitter a few days earlier. Each little texture of ground cover glistened with all it's might, a surreal landscape was unfolding right in front of my eyes. How fortunate I felt to be standing in the middle of nature's sparkling majesty. As you may have guessed already, day two of videotaping offered sights and contrasts, not known on the previous day.</div> <bR> <div> It was still bitter cold outside, but the day before had helped temper me to the conditions. And with the sun shining, it didn't seem quite so cold. I don't think the mercury actually climbed much that day but the sun offers up it's own kind of warmth, be it only a mental sense of comfort ... It did offer comfort. I walked around more that day and in my head I did a recap of the previous day's taping. I didn't want to waste time on repeats, so I looked for new areas to scout.</div> <bR> <div> Geographically speaking, if you were to look into the park from the main road, I was now in the left portion of the property. A little further to the left, outside of the park, was a golf course. I'm not the least bit hesitant to tell you there were no golfers that day. There's a small land bridge covered by blacktop that links the park to the entrance property that hosts the golf course. This area is just off the main road and forms sort of a triangle, just outside the park. Inside the triangle that I just described is an overflow for the lake, think of it as a small pond and you'll have a better picture of the setting. There's a parking area on the left bank of the pond, this is where I parked my car for a while. I had a reason for parking where I did, you see, there must have been fifty ducks walking the black topped land bridge. I couldn't get the tripod and camcorder set up fast enough to capture their walk on tape, but all was not a loss. After they crossed the road they made a sharp turn to the left and when down to the frozen pond. Not all of them went, some of them flew back across the golf course before they would settle again.</div> <bR> <div> I don't know if you've ever observed ducks on a frozen pond before, so let me explain. Their webbed feet are great for water, but not nearly as useful on ice. I had visions of hoe-down music edited into this portion of tape. It was a funny sight watching these ducks trying to negotiate the ice covered pond. There was nothing graceful about it, they were slipping and sliding all over the place. A few would fall to the ice a few times before they made their way back to the snowy bank. Even though I couldn't get all of it on tape, I caught enough of it to get the idea across. It was so funny, watching that group of waddling wonders trying to skate across the ice.</div> <bR> <div> I would see only three people in the park that day. There was also one lone dog walking the grounds. I recall a moment when two of us were in roughly the same area of the park. Even though there was a great distance between us, we were both converged on a common focus. The dog had made his way onto the frozen lake.  I'd just finished videotaping a scene, replaced the lens cap, turned around and caught a glimpse of the dog trotting towards the lake. I whistled at him, but he had his own goal in mind. I looked further through the trees and noticed that the dog had caught the other person's eye as well. He too, was trying to lure the dog to him. I figured we both were leery as to the thickness of the ice that covered the lake. While this was one of the two coldest days of that winter, it was only the beginning of the cold front and the lake hadn't been frozen but for a short time. Inspire of our attempts to lure the dog from the lake, he continued on his trek. In no time, the dog followed a bend in the lake and disappeared into the tree line. Later that day, I saw the same dog. A weight had been lifted.</div> <bR> <div> Looking back, I like to think most of the feelings that I had experienced, transferred to videotape, but there's nothing like viewing it in person. That whole project turned into a Kodak moment, for me.</div> <bR> <div>      - <I>(c) 1998 Mogs</I></div> <bR> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" > <A NAME="house_of_blues"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></FONT><A HREF="#connecting_with_strangers_part_2" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>NEXT</U></A>     <A HREF="#my_winter_canvas" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PREVIOUS</U></A>     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A>     <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A></div> <div> <B>House Of Blue</B><B>s</B><B>,</B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#DDDDDD" FACE="Arial" ><B> Myrtle Beach, SC</B><B>    </B></FONT><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>S, NF</B></FONT></div> <div> -  Wednesday, October 4th, 2000  -</div> <bR> <div> The temperature outside is a warm 85 degrees, the time is 6:44pm, and I'm sitting here glaring at my computer. Twelve hours ago I was 600 miles away on a beach next to the Atlantic ocean.</div> <bR> <div> Yesterday morning my wife and I enjoyed the Breakfast Buffet at the world's largest <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0099CC" FACE="Arial" >House of Blues</FONT> located in North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Although it wasn't the biggest buffet we'd ever been to, the selections were more than sufficient and well prepared.</div> <bR> <div> I've been to three <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0099CC" FACE="Arial" >House of Blues</FONT> locations. Orlando, Chicago, and Myrtle Beach. Whenever my wife and I browse one of their giftshops she feels the need to remind me that she visited the <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0099CC" FACE="Arial" >House of Blues</FONT> in New Orleans a few years. I usually retort with, "Yeah, but I've been to the one in Chicago!"</div> <bR> <div> I've always been a fan of the blues and a fan of John Belushi. He was such a talented person. I enjoyed Dan Akroyd and John Belushi's <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0099CC" FACE="Arial" >Blues Brothers</FONT> skits and movies. Their partnership founded the House of Blues establishments. The 1980 death of John Belushi was yet another talented life and career cut short prematurely.</div> <bR> <div> <I>             </I>- <I>(c) 2000 Mogs</I></div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#FFCC80" FACE="Arial" > <A NAME="connecting_with_strangers_part_2"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></FONT><A HREF="#house_of_blues" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PREVIOUS</U></A>     <A HREF="id345.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Tabl"><U>TABLE OF CONTENTS</U></A>     <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id172_connecting_with_strangers.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>Connecting With Strangers: Part One</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <B>Connecting With Strangers</B><B>    </B><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#339966" FACE="Arial" ><B>S, H, NF</B></FONT></div> <div> <B>- Part Two -</B></div> <div> -  Friday, November 9th, 2001  -</div> <bR> <div> The following story will introduce readers to further explorations of Internet friendships and concludes the two-part trilogy, "Connecting With Strangers."  I'm all too aware that a trilogy should consist of three parts... Relax... Let us not forget that I'm writing about a group of people on the Internet that once considered themselves to be and labeled themselves Wackos.</div> <bR> <div> With that label in mind, let's take the next step of our journey down memory lane by doing a brief recap of how it all began with a slightly different perspective from that of part one...</div> <bR> <div> More and more people began buying computers for the first time throughout the nineties and the Internet grew in leaps and bounds. New Internet subscribers sat in wonder, looking at a virtual mountain of information for the first time. The Internet and World Wide Web had an unfamiliar, yet astounding magnetic attraction that sometimes proved overwhelming to new subscribers.</div> <bR> <div> Being exposed to so much information and having such ease of access to that information via a few simple clicks of a button was enough to make my head swim. Similar to exploring an old house and finding a hidden entrance behind a bookcase, a simple cable provided me passage to the world and it was definitely exhilarating.</div> <bR> <div> I've always been interested in the creative process and I wanted more than just places to see and stories to read after a few months. A certain degree of interaction was lacking and I required mental stimulation that would propel me to be more than just a set of eyes in front of a computer screen... I realized that I needed to be more involved [in some way] with the Internet.</div> <bR> <div> I began reading an Internet message board within my ISP community where a unique group of people had gathered to express their opinions and debate their views in a public forum. After reading the message board for a few weeks I began posting replies, interacting, meeting people, and getting involved.</div> <bR> <div> All was not smooth sailing and there were some bumps along the way, yet there was something special about the place. The bumps proved little more than a test of wits designed to test any newcomers' metal. There seemed to be an unwritten law in that newcomers had to prove themselves in order to be a part of that well established community. In time, my worthiness was approved and I became a part of that flourishing Internet community. In retrospect, my devotion to that message board lasted about 3-4 years.</div> <bR> <div> Many of those posters were known as regulars, yet a somewhat constant flow of new life would wander onto the board. Sometimes the curiosity seekers would determine the board wasn't for them after a few weeks, yet others seemed to fit right in. More than few people left the board through the years and occasionally some of them would return to say a few words to old friends.</div> <bR> <div> I too, had taken a break from the message board for several months and when I returned, some of the posters considered me the new kid on the block. The board had experienced a refresher course in terms of experiencing new life... The newcomers didn't arrive at exactly the same time, yet the blend of new and old personalities went together like meat and potatoes.</div> <bR> <div> It might be helpful to bring some of the personalities I've met on that message board into focus... Allow me if you will, to introduce...</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <B>"Dogs of War, Meercats, Lizards, Warriors, and a Scotsman"</B></div> <bR> <div> Through the years numerous subplots and role playing antics had taken place on that Internet message board. Several of the regular messengers participated in rather bizarre and silly scripts that often had our imaginations running wild.</div> <bR> <div> Before someone assumes that harmless message board role playing is little more than ridiculous, consider the mental workout required to carry out such impromptu replies... Consider the platform of interaction that resulted from such spontaneous wit. I submit to you that rewarding friendships evolved as a direct result of those silly subplots that offered us a release valve from the stress associated with everyday life.</div> <bR> <div> Once I found myself smack dab in the middle of what could only be described as a country feud amongst friends. Even the board monitor was laughing and offering the occasional advice.</div> <bR> <div> In what soon became known as the Fofo/Shiloh Gang, a pack of women chased another man and myself all over that message board. Before it was over we even had bloodhounds on our trail. I didn't know the people that were chasing us or anything about them, but I soon realized we were dealing with a collective sense of humor that had many of us sitting in front of our computers laughing out loud... And thinking outside the box.</div> <bR> <div> I wasn't aware how long a few of them had been posting messages, but some of them appeared to be old-timers when I revisited that board. Most of the personalities that were new to me had blended rather well with the older group and I considered it beneficial for the collective public forum.</div> <bR> <div> Additional weeks of reading and replying to recent board topics developed a casual bond between several of the newer members and myself... If someone has never been exposed to such an online community, I'm not sure if they could actually appreciate such bonds of faceless friendships.</div> <bR> <div> A few years ago someone had posted a link to a Web site showing complete diagrams of a skycar, a form of hovercraft that really caught our eyes... The message board quickly found out that it certainly caught one person's eye and their imagination as well...</div> <bR> <div> Enter now, into the cyber world of a board member who developed the reputation of being a genuine meanie and then place the sole set of keys to that skycar in their hands. As one might imagine, things began to change and change very quickly. It wasn't long before their new grandchild started providing diaper bombs to be thrown from various altitudes... Compliments of the skycar hovercraft.</div> <bR> <div> Now don't get me wrong, this person usually had her feet firmly planted on the ground, yet even then she was equally unpredictable. You never knew when she might show up on the board carrying a whip. I suppose some might wonder why a grown woman would be packing a whip in the first place, but I soon found out after getting too close to that ponderance.</div> <bR> <div> There's two sides to every story, yet that board member had several sides to her personality. By reading between the lines, you soon realized that each different side of her personality was generally quite enjoyable.</div> <bR> <div> An additional item of interest is the fact that she was originally the director's choice to costar with Mel Gibson in the movie Conspiracy Theory.</div> <bR> <div> Occasionally you had those members that simply wanted to be amused. One such person even incorporated that wanton desire into her screen name... Truth be known, many of us shared that same goal.</div> <bR> <div> She teaches some of our youth and isn't afraid to share a good laugh with her students. I would think she's probably a very popular teacher based on the few stories she shared with that group of Internet friends. One thing for certain she cares about her students and she cares about her friends.</div> <bR> <div> She asked us to amuse her, but the amusement proved to be a two-way street to all that tackled the task.</div> <bR> <div> There was also a maiden voyager on that message board... She posted by the sign of the moon and had a laugh that was out of this world and a sense of humor to match.</div> <bR> <div> She was as tough as they come and knew how to handle herself in a crowd. Her determined spirit would offer wisdom at every corner, yet perhaps her main reason for being there was the fellowship of fun people that weren't afraid to laugh... Her planetary body cast a glow over that board that radiated her inner smile to all around her.</div> <bR> <div> Even though I left that message board, I didn't leave the friends that I made there and she is just one of several that I continue to keep in contact with via e-mail.</div> <bR> <div> [One must choose their words carefully when answering e-mail from this mystic presence. I never realized that a moon would even possess such an abundant catalog of clip art and she isn't afraid to use graphic images to annunciate her points.]</div> <bR> <div> Then, there was the board member I'll call the Scotsman... That dude had one of the most direct approaches I'd ever encountered. He would generally make his point in two sentences or less and he'd surely be a great writer.  From the first word he typed, each sentence would build off the previous one, displaying the classic form of thought and expression.</div> <bR> <div> His wit expressed a sharpness that was second to none. He further honed those skills each time he clicked the send button. And if that wasn't enough, you'd probably find his personality listed next to the definition of common sense in the dictionary.</div> <bR> <div> Another person one can find on a public message board takes a bit more explaining in order to paint an accurate picture...</div> <bR> <div> An old dog wandered onto the message board one day, proving that one never knows what to expect in a public forum. That old dog barked that you couldn't teach an old dog new tricks. In time, however, we learned that dog had a few tricks of his own... Beneath that coat of hair lived the heart of a warrior.</div> <bR> <div> That particular warrior had strong convictions when it came to leaping through the hoops of debate. Ask him what he thought about an issue and he'd spell it out for you. Perhaps his most vital characteristic was the honesty of his replies.</div> <bR> <div> Journey with me as we move further across our cyber spectrum of personalities and devote a few minutes to a unique individual known as the scuba diver. I suppose he could deny it, but he would rather speak his mind and plea his case than eat. The extent of seriousness involved with many of his debates were questionable at best. He approached his ponders with careful retort... He could nail his target at a thousand yards... His aim could also be camouflaged under the dry, subtle humor, he would sometimes weave into his replies, yet when he chose the direct approach, one had better look out and hang on.</div> <bR> <div> Sometimes even the most sensible of people will get drawn into an obsession of surrealism. Meet a man with a computer known as a writer of imaginative works. That message board member allowed himself to be lured into the dark underworld of southern belle espionage. The force was so great that he organized a detective agency in order to weave plots of intrigue throughout the message board membership.</div> <bR> <div> That message board member even had the nerve to post meaningful dialog in debates in attempts to throw us off track of his steamy, southern belle, obsession.</div> <bR> <div> Without question, each and every group of online Internet friends need a big shot lawyer as a member. One never knows when trouble could be waiting in the wings from most unexpected sources. Allow me to introduce our self professed Big Shot Lawyer friend... She has worked on cases widely varied in nature and even took on the job of representing a small group of people that decided to use blue colored fonts as their default online text.</div> <bR> <div> Of course, we're all aware of the stuffed shirt attitudes associated with big shot lawyers and our Big Shot Lawyer could wear that attitude rather well, if only she'd stop making us laugh long enough to give notice if such an attitude even exists. </div> <bR> <div> My story of Internet personalities wouldn't be complete without mentioning the famous Meerkat Super Model twins... Yeppers, I had the pleasure of being on an Internet message board that included famous personalities and the twins were certainly a driving force behind many of those personalities and subplots.</div> <bR> <div> One of the twins never signed online unless she was accompanied by her flat frog pal, Dan. I could write an entire story about the antics that resulted from such a brilliant idea cloaked in humor... She had other ideas too... One of them had to do with a desert lizard.</div> <bR> <div> Her best pal had a special gift for bridging gaps through the use of reasoning and humor. Collectively speaking, the two of them could take on anyone... Yet on their own they brought qualities to that board that provided a level of honesty and brilliance that brought out the best in each of us.</div> <bR> <div> As you can see, there's a certain amount of creativity that goes along with being involved in public forums such as Internet message boards. Generally, you find yourself surrounded by multifaceted people that possess a high level of intelligence, confidence in their opinions, and more ideas on how to have fun than you can imagine.</div> <bR> <div> It's a forum that forces a meeting of the minds... Sometimes they mesh, other times they butt heads, but more importantly it offers an exchange of creativity that broadens our horizons and adds fullness to our everyday lives.</div> <bR> <div> You quickly realize that you [could be] talking to the next Norman Rockwell, Steven King, Michael Jordan, Robin Williams, Colin Powell, Stephen Hawking, or Salvador Dali, and never know it...</div> <bR> <div> The above statement allowed me to [setup] my mention of our very own Sally Fields... Of course, she wasn't Sally Fields and that wasn't even her name... Yet, it's often the spark of the unknown that ignites our inner being and allows us to grow beyond set ideologies... Through expected and unexpected trains of thought, debates, and humor, our world has become a bit more... Connected.</div> <bR> <div> <I>            </I>- <I>(c) 2001 Mogs</I></div> <div>    </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="#original_stories_by_mogs_page_3" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>TOP OF PAGE</U></A>    <A HREF="id172.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PAGE 1</U></A>    <A HREF="id45.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PAGE 2</U></A>    <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#9999FF" FACE="Arial" ><B>PAGE 3</B></FONT>    <A HREF="id196.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stories, Essays, Editorials, Humor: Page"><U>PAGE 4</U></A></div> <bR> <div> Website Design by Mark McKinley ~ Logos & Photos (C) 1999-2012 Mark's Online Graphics Site</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>