Before I begin this short shout out to my friend ALF I want to offer my apologies to the reader. If you are a follower of this blog, you will undoubtably realize that I have not posted anything in quite sometime. I will not offer excuses, but I am going to attempt to defend my actions. I’ve been busier than I really care to be.
Since my last significant post in August I have published Pinky Anderson and the Traveling Flea Circus, compiled and published The Lady In The Pink Underwear, and moved back to Moapa Valley National Wildlife Refuge. That might not sound like much to the average person, but to me it’s enough to drive an old man to a nap. And I’m still searching for that nap. Oh, and I’ve started outlining two new stories, and am currently writing a short story that is much different than anything I’ve done in the past. Wish me luck on that one.
What I want to remind you about today, in case you’ve forgotten, is that this is the weekend for the Storm Area 51 fiasco. You got that right. A bunch of idiots were (still are?) planning on storming the government’s top secret air base at Groom Lake. Continue reading
Football season is upon us. Many people are preparing for fantasy football drafts, and others are gearing up to root for their team, they’re buying jerseys, hats, and face paint. You can be sure, though, that some just don’t have the desire to put in the time and effort that comes with a team in a fantasy league, but they do enjoy watching football.
When I wrote Pinky Anderson And The Traveling Flea Circus I included a chapter on a club that Pinky joined. He didn’t care much for fantasy football, but he thoroughly enjoyed the camaraderie of belonging to the “37 Club.” It’s a way for someone to enjoy football without joining a fantasy league, and maybe even make a buck or two. I’m including the rules to the club here in case anyone would like to try their hand at what Pinky found to be an enjoyable pastime. Continue reading
I first met Pinky Anderson in the second grade. We sat next to one another in Mrs. Lewinsky’s class. I knew at seven years old that Pinky was destined for a challenging life. He just had that air about him.
Even though we grew up in the same small town, and lived across the street from one another for several years, we were never really close. Pinky was…well, Pinky. Growing up, he was the kid that no one liked, but didn’t know why they didn’t like him. He was always chosen last to be on any team sport, and then left on the bench where he couldn’t do any damage. The other kids didn’t tease him as you might have thought they would. They just ignored him. Continue reading