The Grinch

Well junk week resumed today at work with the arival of a fifty ford flathead, a 70 Toyota land cruisor, and The Grinch. The grinch was set down outside and next to our building by a nut. The man yelled and cursed Grinchy, then left for an hour only to return and yell and curse Grinchy again. He then left for about three hours then returned and took Grinchy with him.

Blackbirds an such

Ohh do you remember these? The black one is for sale...first 25 takes it. Sheesh. The other one is a one owner til death seperates them.

Aint to pretty in the heat of the afternoon. Temps about 100 in my area. Thought I'd mess with my new camera phone. Not a bad pic for such an ugly topic huh? I will get serious next post....Maybe

Life, dreams and yonder the next hill

K it's time to stick my nose in. Everyone has heard that life is short and to live hard, get what you can. My wife is fond of telling me life is an adventure, and with her it is. I was asked by a professional once what I liked best about my wife. I answered, "She takes me along on her adventures!" I moved about a thousand miles from home to be with my wife, leaving kids, parents, sister, friends galore, a business, and a career. Not a day went by that I didn't question myself or my motives. As things didn't go well I was tempted to throw in the towel on many occasions. It's been nine years now and I'm finally feeling at home. In the early months the homesickness was like a fist in the face. I was bewildered and lost. didn't have the social contacts I was used to, and no one to help sort it out. All the more reason I'm amazed at our forefathers coming to this land never to return home. As time goes by you make new friends, gain the respect of new groups. A partial list of problems would include some language issues, behavior issues, (we don't think and act the same under like circumstances) homesickness, and no support group. (who ya gonna talk to when you and the misses are fighting) pluses? Yep there's a few. Self confidence is gained. Financial discipline is a must. New friends, climate, and sites to see. This is just a small sample of what one is up against when one leaves their home space. The best thing I can say is that it's important to know and be comfortable with who and what you are. It's a mighty big apple out there. Make sure you can chew the bite you take.

The fourth

I am the Flag
by Ruth Apperson Rous
I am the flag of the United States of America.
I was born on June 14, 1777, in Philadelphia.
There the Continental Congress adopted my stars and stripes as the national flag.
My thirteen stripes alternating red and white, with a union of thirteen white stars in a field of blue, represented a new constellation, a new nation dedicated to the personal and religious liberty of mankind.
Today fifty stars signal from my union, one for each of the fifty sovereign states in the greatest constitutional republic the world has ever known.
My colors symbolize the patriotic ideals and spiritual qualities of the citizens of my country.
My red stripes proclaim the fearless courage and integrity of American men and boys and the self-sacrifice and devotion of American mothers and daughters.
My white stripes stand for liberty and equality for all.
My blue is the blue of heaven, loyalty, and faith.
I represent these eternal principles: liberty, justice, and humanity.
I embody American freedom: freedom of speech, religion, assembly, the press, and the sanctity of the home.
I typify that indomitable spirit of determination brought to my land by Christopher Columbus and by all my forefathers - the Pilgrims, Puritans, settlers at James town and Plymouth.
I am as old as my nation.
I am a living symbol of my nation's law: the Constitution of the United States and the Bill of Rights.
I voice Abraham Lincoln's philosophy: "A government of the people, by the people,for the people."
I stand guard over my nation's schools, the seedbed of good citizenship and true patriotism.
I am displayed in every schoolroom throughout my nation; every schoolyard has a flag pole for my display.
Daily thousands upon thousands of boys and girls pledge their allegiance to me and my country.
I have my own law—Public Law 829, "The Flag Code" - which definitely states my correct use and display for all occasions and situations.
I have my special day, Flag Day. June 14 is set aside to honor my birth.
Americans, I am the sacred emblem of your country. I symbolize your birthright, your heritage of liberty purchased with blood and sorrow.
I am your title deed of freedom, which is yours to enjoy and hold in trust for posterity.
If you fail to keep this sacred trust inviolate, if I am nullified and destroyed, you and your children will become slaves to dictators and despots.
Eternal vigilance is your price of freedom.
As you see me silhouetted against the peaceful skies of my country, remind yourself that I am the flag of your country, that I stand for what you are - no more, no less.
Guard me well, lest your freedom perish from the earth.
Dedicate your lives to those principles for which I stand: "One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
I was created in freedom. I made my first appearance in a battle for human liberty.
God grant that I may spend eternity in my "land of the free and the home of the brave" and that I shall ever be known as "Old Glory," the flag of the United States of America.

Page two

In Racing we had a saying that was used at the bars in the winter when we would all get together. "If yer racin yer cheatin, if yer talkin yer lyin." It wasn't really cheatin so much as an intelligent reading of the rules. That's what I used. Some of the teams were blatant about cheating, and the tech inspectors had no clue how to catch them. Enter Billrilla. Bill would wear work cloths and show no affiliation with me or our group in the early days and at any new track. He could wander around and chat with the other teams as they worked on their cars, getting a good look at what they had. He would try to verify what he saw, and then bring me the info. In some cases I would just sit on the info and we would just go out and win. Every once in a while when the cheatin got way outa hand I would wait til we lost and then file a complaint to the tech guy. Usually had to hold their hands while they looked for what I told them. We gave that up after a while when they started shutting hoods at the sight of Bill. Bill called a few on the things he had seen, and some wanted to fight him. I made sure he didn't hurt anyone but let him answer the challenges after the night was over. Funny how everyone had somewhere else to be when the officials were out of the picture. One time we were working on a car in my shop. I was under it and Bill was on top in the engine bay. We were using some heavier then air solvents to clean stuff. I was breathing the fumes and soon noticed the world going black. The last thing I remember was reaching out and hitting Bill on the leg, and then I was out. When I came to, I was outside and on my side with Bill asking me if I was ok. If I hadn't hit him on the leg it might have been five or more minutes before he would have noticed a problem. As it was he had me outa there in seconds. Thanks bro.

My lil brothers page.

Billrilla is my lil brother. I don't remember exactly who named him that, I think the ex wife. The reason is simple. Bill V, the half brother to my best friend in highschool is somewhat an ape! The fun little boy we used to tease and Bro Mike used to call "The Runt" has an uncommon strength about his upper body. Bill is a very gifted auto tech that can build anything, and has the analytical skills to be among the best. Bill didn't have the cash to own his own shop so he worked for me or his brother Mike. His loss is our gain. This worked out well because I was never sure if Bill was comfortable with his ass swinging in the breeze. If something blew up it was always better if it was Toms or Greggs but it was in reality as much Bills. I remember one time we built a stationwagon to race on the street. "The Magenta Mauler" it was called for its purple and chrome engine. (built for ex wife.) The damn thing ate the starter and ring gear, requiring the removal of the transmission to fix the gear. Bill had assembled the unit and I disassembled it. When I got to take the ring gear off I couldn't budge the bolts. I propped my feet against the wrenches and pushed to no avail. Bill, with a double stack of wrenches tried and broke a couple of wrenches before getting the thing loose. That is where he got the nickname Billrilla. If Bill tightened it it was tight! Godamighty tight! Continued

Friendship

I want to say a few things about friendship. Some say that a man is truly blessed if he can count one true friend in this world. I've many! In the almost 44 years I've been here I have accumulated many friends, some very close and some not. I take friendships very seriously as I've had the opportunity to win and lose some. One of the things I have noticed about friendship is that distance is a killer. It isn't really distance so much as it is apathy. If you aren't the one to keep the fire stoked so to speak, then you will lose touch. If you stop and wonder; What ever happened to so and so? You are at fault. You took your eye off of your friend and the winds of time blew them away! Always remember that time has no effect over ones love of another human being so reach out! Always be willing to reach out, and take the initiative to preserve that which gives pleasure and comfort. I can think of nothing to this day that brings more comfort then friends. Doesn't matter if they are new or old, they bring warmth and comfort. That is why I had such a mad house as a young man, people coming and going, lots of laughter and fun. The one thing I miss about my old home is the close proximity of old friends. One of the things I love about my new home is the new friends. Friends can be of many types and from many arenas. Some you don't have to have met at all. (thanks to al gore and the internet..LOL) I am grateful to one and all. The reason I'm grateful is dependent on which friend I'm speaking of. Bill V, the one that drove 15 hours to my wedding, and Don, my soundingboard, Andrea, just makes me smile, and Donna, showing me that which I've never seen. I love Louise for her different point of view, always reminding me to keep an open mind. The list goes on forever, and I love you all. Don't lets ever forget one another! Our strength is in our belief and love in one another.

Ron's page

It takes a huge amount of effort to go racing. In our case we had it times 7. We built engines for anyone we thought would win and gain some recognition for our work. The objective was to have a salable product. It didn't work. Drivers are a tight lot and would rather do it themselves and lose then pay for a product that makes them a winner. When I came home from my day job about six, Bill V was usually already in the shop working. He would sometimes bring some of his friends to help out. One such person was Ron Grubb. It didn't take long for him to fit in, and do a huge amount of work as well. Some people aren't blessed with many gifts, and Ron was one of those. Big and kinda gumpy, not pretty and no money. His teen years were a bit rough. He was going to be your typical ne'er do well. About his gifts. A gentle soul that didn't hurt anyone with a quick wit, and good sense of humor. Would gladly play basketball all night if we would, and a nice hook shot. Would also work all night on a friends car just cause it needed to be done. Tirelessly cleaned and polished engine parts, laying them out for assembly making sure to remove any lint from the parts before we would use them. Always running errands and getting sodas. During breaks he was outside swinging my kids around by the feet, and otherwise contributing to the mayhem that was my house in those days. There wasn't any money to pay such help, but there was food, and parts, and all the skills to be very very fast. I sold Ron a Mustang on the cheap, and then Bill V and I made it damn fast on the cheap. When I left Michigan, he was one of the little pieces of my life that I left behind, secure in the knowledge that he would always be there when I went back. Somehow I never got to hook back up with him and share a soda, and a memory or two. Now I can't! Ron was never the most careful person, and he died because of it. While fixing someones car, he was under it when it fell. It's a little late, but thanks for all those hours Ron. God rest and God speed.

Charmin Carmen

This page is about a woman, and could be titled; Why I would make a lousy Muslim. Racing at the level that we did it is a family affair. I had many close friends among our competitors and worked on their cars as much as my own. The reason was simple. If my guy, or in this case gal was going to win, I wanted her to beat you at your best. On any given Saturday night I would work on between five and ten cars. If Bill V was there he would work on an additional three or four, in addition to helping me. One day Greg V decided to sponsor a woman that had no money, and a very old beat to hell racecar. We put something together for her, and got her out for the last biggest race of the year. She passed two thirds of the field on the first lap. As she got to turn four, she got wrecked by someone not wanting to give up the spot. Over the winter one of our people that we helped with tech stuff approached me about making Carmen a winner. We agreed to work together on this project, thus giving the lady the resources that only the guys with ten or twenty thou a year had to play with. We took the engine out of my wife's old station wagon and tried to race that! It was a little low on breath in the straightaways so we tore it down and rebuilt it over a Monday through Wednesday. During that time Bill V spent many hours trying to get more breath out of a set of heads that were just too damn short of breath. Thanks to his efforts we got about an other fivehundred rpms down the straightaways. Made practice on Thursday and raced on Friday. We wrecked on Friday and spent all night getting ready for Saturday. Saturday was a big track with lots of banking, we knew we were going to run out of breath about half way down the straightaways. On the other hand we could out pull anyone coming out of the corners. All we needed was for Carmen to be able to put the power to the track. We had about five people working on the car that night, three of them drivers from cars she competed against. Everyone loves an underdog, even if it beats you. She beat dear friends that night. I thought Doug, her benefactor was going to throw me off the back of the stands he was so excited. We worked our asses off all year, and she gave us two track championships. We knew she would go out and win, or break the car trying. She, more then anyone else taught me that given a reasonable chance a woman could do anything she set her mind to. I remember one time we finished a race and I was in the pits getting the trailer ready, and packing our stuff to go home. The guy next to us had a bad night and was taking it out on everyone. The pits used to be a forty acre cornfield, so there's not much light. He came in hot, and did a doughnut and hit the trailer I was standing on. It knocked me to the ground, while taking a Lil bit of daylight and sense with it. That girl grabbed him by the face and helped him from his car and over to me. She read him from the book about what she would do to the man that hurt her engine builder or any of her crew. He apologized and walked off. I was looking at her kind of funny so she grabbed her breasts and said, " I've got a pair too! I just wear em a lil higher then you do!"

Hidden thunder

The first page will be Mr V's page. The man I bought the house from was a Vietnam era vet with a need for speed. He was of the James Smoky Yunick type. He would do anything, and blow everything up for one more mile per hour. He can be seen in the movie Heart like a wheel ( The Shirley Muldowney story) if you look very fast. The scene at Pomona dragway in California, Greg is leaving the line in an Orange and blue Buick GS Stage One. It is the car he would set an NHRA record with in that same year. He also had at one time an IHRA record holder Chevy Kingswood stationwagon. Yep we all raced wagons at one time. I had a Chevy Malibu wagon with about 400 horses as a daily driver. I got it with the house, the engine came later. The thing about Greg was that he and his Buddy Jim Paquette were building and racing cars that were spanking the big money guys whenever they felt like it, or had the money to travel on. He himself could have been a big money guy but wouldn't play nice with the bean counters. He took a Chevy Camero to a major race and encountered the engineers from Oldsmobile (our home town) and when approached said "Damn! There's enough Oldsmobiles here to start a junkyard!" Yep Greg likes it his way. Olds went with Dick La'Hae, as did Miller Brewing. Greg didn't care he beat them anyway. When I met Greg he was very fat and way past his driving days, but still the smartest kid on the block. His fault was that he was lazy and didn't want to do the actual work of putting the engines together. Enter myself and best friends lil brother Bill V, no relation to Greg. Bill worked for me sometimes and with me some times and was always and still is a very dear friend. I created a company called Response Racing Engines. Privately we did the assemblies for Gregs people, and tuned them at the track. Thanks to Greg we learned on stuff that was about three to five years ahead of NASCAR. Continued

Toms Garage

People are everything to me. If I could, I would write about everyone I know. I try to see the good in everyone that I meet, and have a lot of friends because of it. I like to tell their stories. As best I know them. If I live long enough I'll tell yours as well......As best I know it. I need to write about a time in my life that I've put away for about nine years now. I will as I always do, start with a lil background so as not to lose you. This too will take a few posts. I used to live up north in Michigan, the place of my birth. As a young man I bought a house with my first wife. The man I bought the house from was a car guy. I'm a car guy. It was a great purchase because this man taught me a trade that I could turn into a passion. All that was asked of me was to leave his stuff in my garage and let him still work out of it. The rocket ship took off from there. The man, Greg V, built the hottest thumpinest racing engines I've ever seen. He taught me to make some thump too! This story is about that time, and those people that were special in my world at that time. The reason for the write is that I've learned one of them has died. A bit player in my life but as I've said, with me it's about the people. Continued.

Are we right to do the things we do? History will be the judge. This I know; someone has to do something and we are alone atop the mountain. I choose to believe that America is a good and honorable place full of people that care about their neighbors. I don't believe every soldier serves with honor, but most do. What we have here can't be found anywhere else in the world, and it's because of folks giving the final measure.

Busy

Sorry gang, been busy as hell. Will try to catch up over the long weekend. John... Now is the time to move any money from bonds to stock funds. Ill explain later. :)

100th post

I too have addictions, some I have beaten, and some I embrace. Now you know why I will never run for public office. Pat Kennedy can come over and hang out at my house any time he wants.....as long as he doesn't bring Swimmer. My boat with Swimmer on it, and 50,000 acres of water would be too much temptation.

Just desserts

Racism part five.

This may be the last on this topic. I hope so cause I'm tired of talking about it. I see nobody tried to answer the question I put forth in the last post. Here are the answers, yes there are more then one. (drum roll please) The Lottery, and various sin taxes. In my view, if you want to see a real racist, (white ones) look at the politicians that give us the Lottery in so many states. Rich people do not as a rule play the games, and if they do, they don't spend much. They know the odds are so very bad. Better to spend the money in Vegas. Odds are better, drinks are free, and the hookers regulated. Poor people on the other hand throw huge sums at the games in the hopes of hitting it. Blacks as a rule are poorer then whites, and with the exception of my ex, and a few others spend more. Yep, that's right, Blacks support the Lottery in droves, and with real money. It's a tax on you people! I have told them by the hundreds but they don't get it. "I'm gonna be rich!" Yeah right! If my mom had wheels she'd be a wagon. I make a living in the under fifty bracket. My body is slowly failing me, and I know I will never make it to retirement age in my current career. Time is short, and I don't make a lot. You can bet your butt I don't waste much on the Lottery. Since my divorce I've been able to put away a lil bit of money for a rainy day. I've made that money grow at around 12% a year by taking care of my own investments. Yeah, I'm good! I work at it. I do all of this on twenty bucks a week! I watch some of the people in the hood invest fifty to eighty bucks a week on powerball. My god if I had access to that much money I'd be retired by now. Wanna know where the twenty came from? I quit smoking. Hardest damn thing I've ever done. I stopped paying the .50 a pack tax on my two pack a day habit. I'm not so sure the sin tax affects Blacks at a higher rate then whites, but it affects them none the less. Why do I think the Lottery is a racist institution? Because I believe more money at least in percentage comes from blacks, and like me and my cigs, I don't think they can stop. It took me twenty years and a lot of help at home. I think of my friend Thomas the bum. It might be wrong, but every once in a while I'll buy him a beer to go with a meal. I know he can't stop and he never asks anymore. It's a dignity thing I can't explain. He chuckles at the Lotto players, and counts his blessings however few they are. That kind of money would kill him. He says some are better off spending it on the games.

Racism part four

As luck would have it, I find myself in traffic a lot these days. It is springtime here in the south so we have our windows down, and air off for now. I am forced to listen to the black folks and their rap music at a loud and obnoxious rate. I could respond with Butt hole surfers, or Metalica, or any of a bunch of white guy bands. I'm a mechanic. If I want 5,000 watts of sound per channel I can do that! I can deafen the pope from here if I choose! I don't! I try to keep my sounds in the car with me. If I really wanna hear it loud, I roll up the windows. I have a young friend with a loud as hell rock band that does the same thing. He says "I might not be your thing." He also removes his hat for the blessing, and leaves it off for the meal. I wonder about the word Nigger! Why if it is so offensive, do I hear it about every other word in a black persons car? I got a story for you pal.... If it's good for the goose it's good for the gander. I hate the stereotypical nigger, hate em with a passion. I don't however hate black people as a rule. I've had a few friends that were black living in my home when times were tough. I know they have my back, as I've had theirs. Good and decent people have no color. I met the wife downtown a week or two ago for lunch. We were driving through the ghetto when we stopped at a light. A black man pulled up next to us in a newer Impala with the words fuck and nigger and kill coming out of the car. I looked over at him; guess I pissed him off because he turned it up from loud as hell to earthquake! He then proceeded to sing the song at me while hanging out the window. You caught me on a generous day, I didn't spit at you. I could write a book about how to better get along with white or any one else but it would be lost in translation. Here is a question for you. How do you get a black man...or woman to pay more in taxes without bitching? The answer will be in another post, and it might surprise you.

Words after one year

I received another compliment today regarding the piece I wrote about my late boss. It seems Mike has shared it with some of our customers. (those that knew him) I also received a letter from Bob's older sister. It seems my words moved her. Hers in turn moved me. It got me to thinking about the power of words, and how one chooses to use them. I do make an attempt to correct my spelling, and grammar but I won't go out of my way. I feel that to make no effort is being slack, while having an editor goes to far the other way. (yes I have an editor) As a rule, I don't work on a post for more then it takes me to write it. This is sometimes a bad thing because I could surely do better, but then I'd be writing to you and not for me. The reason I started this blog was to give friends a place to go. A chatroom of sorts. I never intended to write anything for anyone else to read, except maybe "New post". Mike H beat me to the punch, and I had this blog sitting here doing nothing so I put a few thoughts down. It has led to this. I started about a year ago and have over 80 posts. Sometimes I say something that gets a lot of comments and sometimes no one says a word. Yep I've had 70 and 0 and everything in-between. Sometimes I think I've said something profound, and you didn't! Sometimes I think I wrote a bunch of garbage, and you didn't. Words are funny that way. It's like trying to wield a sword when you really don't know how. Sometimes I cut what I want, and sometimes I cut ME! Looking back on all of the posts and comments I'm reminded of a favorite movie; The Breakfast Club. No we aint all gonna get along and probably shouldn't, but what a ride! Back to the words.... I don't believe that I need to hurt someone to expose the truth, nor should I yell, or gloat. I've had some that wonder why I let this or that person comment, or why didn't you apply more force to that one, and on. I tell you this..... A stump is a stump. We all know that, but what we don't all know is that the stump knows it too! My heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you. During the last year you were sometimes all I had.

My dad used to do something like this in Korea

The sun beat like a hammer, not a cloud was in the sky.The mid-day air ran thick with dust, my throat was parched and dry.With microphone clutched tight in hand and cameraman in tow,I ducked beneath a fallen roof, surprised to hear, "Stay low."My eyes blinked several times before in shadow I could see,The figure stretched across the rubble, steps away from me.He wore a cloak of burlap strips, all shades of grey and brown,That hung in tatters till he seemed to melt into the ground.He never turned his head or took his eye from off the scope,But pointed through the broken wall and down the rocky slope."About eight hundred yards," he said, his whispered words concise,Beneath the baggy jacket he is wearing a device.A chill ran up my spine despite the swelter of the heat,"You think he's gonna set it off along the crowded street?"The sniper gave a weary sigh and said, "I wouldn't doubt it,""Unless there's something this old gun and I can do about it."A thunderclap, a tongue of flame, the still abruptly shattered;While citizens that walked the street were just as quickly scattered.Till only one remained, a body crumpled on the ground,The threat to oh, so many ended by a single round.And yet the sniper had no cheer, no hint of any gloat,Instead he pulled a logbook out and quietly he wrote."Hey, I could put you on TV, that shot was quite a story!"But he surprised me once again -- "I got no wish for glory.""Are you for real?" I asked in awe, "You don't want fame or credit?"He looked at me with saddened eyes and said, "You just don't get it.You see that shot-up length of wall, the one without a door?Before a mortar hit, it used to be a grocery store."But don't go thinking that to bomb a store is all that cruel,The rubble just across the street -- it used to be a school.The little kids played soccer in the field out by the road."His head hung low, "They never thought a car would just explode."As bad as all this is though, it could be a whole lot worse."He swallowed hard, the words came from his mouth just like a curse."Today the fight's on foreign land, on streets that aren't my own,""I'm here today 'cause if I fail, the next fight's back at home.""And I won't let my Safeway burn, my neighbors dead inside,Don't wanna get a call from school that says my daughter died;I pray that not a one of them will know the things I see,Nor have the work of terrorists etched in their memory.""So you can keep your trophies and your fleeting bit of fame,I don't care if I make the news, or if they speak my name."He glanced toward the camera and his brow began to knot,"If you're looking for a story, why not give this one a shot.""Just tell the truth of what you see, without the slant or spin;That most of us are OK and we're coming home again.And why not tell our folks back home about the good we've done,How when they see Americans, the kids come at a run.""You tell 'em what it means to folks here just to speak their mind,Without the fear that tyranny is just a step behind;Describe the desert miles they walk in their first chance to vote,Or ask a soldier if he's proud, I'm sure you'll get a quote."He turned and slid the rifle in a drag bag thickly padded,Then looked again with eyes of steel as quietly he added;"And maybe just remind the few, if ill of us they speak,That we are all that stands between the monsters and the weak."Michael MarksSomewhere in IraqJanuary 25, 2006