Friday, December 25, 2009

It's A Wonderful Dinner

Well, the fire's out...

That's how all holiday stories should begin.

Christmas eve, my sister-in-law was making a fancy, French dinner at mom's house. I can't pronounce it but it involved filet mignon and salmon and cognac. It was the cognac that brought about the fun.

I arrived late for this portion of the evening but I made it into the kitchen in time to see the range hood afire. This was not part of the recipe. As fires go, it was small and contained and not really very scary but, it was annoying as all get out. When she flambeed (?) something on the stove top, the flames lept up to the exhaust fan igniting some grease that had collected around the fan assembly. Evidently, it doesn't take much. The plastic assembly then caught fire as did the wires that powered the fan and the light. The circuit breakers did their job and tripped. That's a good thing. The stove is on a separate circuit from the lights in the kitchen and that's a good thing too. It's best not to perform these stunts by firelight.

Like I said, it was contained. It just happened to be contained in a very awkward spot. If a pan catches fire on a stove top you can easily cover it, eliminating the oxygen needed to fuel the fire and the problem is solved. But, up under the hood, with a mounting bracket in the way, it was hard to suffocate this fire. It was an excellent opportunity to use a fire extingusher- one rated for all types of fires. One just like the one I was intending to purchase for just such an ocassion...

I get premonitions from time to time. They usually manifest themselves in odd ways like opting NOT to step outside for a smoke because the boss is about to show up unexpectedly and he won't be happy about that no matter how much I've been busting my ass up to that point... But, the night before, at another sister's house, i had noticed that her husband had a fire extinguisher in the hall just outside the kitchen and I thought to myself, I should get mom one of those...just in case...

No one panicked. I was very pleased about that. It *seemed* to go on for about five long minutes but it was quite a bit quicker than that. Once I determined there was no danger of electrocution, I got my hands in there with some towels and choked the life out of that fire. This wasn't all that easy and it took a couple of tries. Melting plastic, fire and fibers don't mix real well- they tend to ignite! I Suffered only a burn on the inside of my forearm from the melting plastic. No big deal. I didn't even cry. I went in the basement, made sure all potentially dangerous circuits were off- just in case- took the range hood off and capped off the wires. Wa la!

Dinner survived the incident and was, as the French might say, "le fooking awesome!" The peppercorns on the filet were a little much for me though. Now, off to Home Depot for a fire extingusher. I hope they're on sale!

Merry Christmas!

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Tiger Tales

Or, is it "Tiger Tails"?

Most atheletes, when they "retire", take up golf. Tiger Woods can't be doing that right now. Michael Jordan, when he "retired" from the NBA, took up minor league baseball as a way of fullfilling a dream that his father had for him. It might have had something to do with the NBA's being a bit unhappy with his gambling addiction but, it was a great story back then. That Michael was good enough to be a mediocre baseball player in the middle of being the GREATEST BASKETBALL PLAYER EVER! is testament to what a great athelete he was AND how hitting a baseball is still the hardest thing to do in sports.

I don't know that Tiger Woods has any such talent or desire. And anyway, his thing now is to stay out of the public eye. In cruising the cable channels the other night, I paused long enough to see an "expert" saying that a picture of Tiger's facial lacerations would easily bring some lucky photographer one million dollars.

Tiger is an odd one. Most guys sleep with regular good-looking women and fantasize about bagging a supermodel. Tiger, married to a supermodel, set his sights on more pedestrian women. There's something very wrong about that but, I guess it explains why he's Tiger and you and I aren't.

Atheletes have a lot more doors opened for them than you or I do. Being a famous jock is going to get you into doors at restaurants, clubs and into vagina's that regular guy's just don't get. Tiger is a perfect example of that. By no accounts is he a handsome guy. He's not likely to charm a Perkins waitress if he's a cabdriver or a sheetmetal worker but, it could happen. In a way he's kinda like Sarah Palin in that he's "hot" in comparison to what he does and to his contemporaries. Sarah Palin is an ordinary women passing on the street but, as a Vice-Presidential candidate- WOW! Most of them look like Joe Biden or Dick Cheney. That makes her "hot". There are a million waitress's better looking than her but, none of them get as much TV time as her.

It's TV and of course, money, that makes either of these two people desirable to the general horny public. That's it. I think Tiger knows this. I don't think Sarah does but, her vagina is not (currently) under public scrutiny. Tiger knows that it is his fame and fortune as a golfer that got him the supermodel wife and the 15 and counting other women on his scorecard. I *think* he knows this. Little Tiger doesn't know this though and that's why he's in trouble. Little Tiger took over Big Tiger's brain and common sense went south on him as he went south. It happens to the best of us just as it happens to rest of us.

He's still (probably) the best golfer there ever was. He just happens to be a dumbass. He's gone from being "THE MAN!" to simply being a man.

Welcome to the club, Mr. Woods. We won't hold the door for you.

Sunday, November 29, 2009


It's been a couple of weeks since I've made an entry here. I must say that a lot of that had to do with the purge of Sublime and Lil Roo from the dregs. That shocked even me. Two of the nicest people on the threads were brutally beat down and cast out of dregdom. One was chastized for lengthy posts. The other was singled out for finding amusement in a post of mine. These were their "crimes". Wow.

Watching the dregs/ninnies self destruct is like watching the republican party implode. 770 is their Sarah Palin...

But, 3e- who led the purge of both Sub and Roo- DID apologize. That's the important thing with these imaginary people. Say and do whatever you feel like (if fully vested in regdom, that is) and then apologize. That clears your conscience and absolves you. DO NOT admit that you are wrong, just apologize like kids on the playground. "Resolve" conflict by washing it away with apologies. Go ahead and hit the smaller child- just be sure and apologize like mommy said..."Poor parenting" that is. Why, if ferrerman had only apologized for things he had NOT done, he would be drinking bubble tea with the dregs and ninnies right now...

You have to wonder about someone who calls herself an introvert and yet habitually EXPLODES when she is (so easily) angered.

I guess this is all to say that, I'm kinda sad that I'm not the number one enemy of the dregs anymore. I've been replaced.

They have a new enemy: Themselves.

Who will be the next to go? Stay tuned...

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Keep Your Friends Close...

...and your enemies closer? Well, that's what the Godfather taught us. You may have seen how well it worked out for Michael Corleone. Not very, if you didn't see I or II.

But, that's the movies. In real life, we don't like our enemies to be close to us. This is because they are enemies and, since we don't like them, we don't want them around. Pretty simple. I don't hang around with my enemies and whenever they see me, they tell me to go away. They get very upset when I do not heed their warnings. Well, that's enemies for ya! That's just the way they are! Those damn enemies!

What if your friends treated you like that? Would you still consider them friends? Probably not.

But, what if your friends treated you like an enemy but did so under the guise of "friendship"? As in, "We love you but, you've made us mad and now we're going to say mean, hurtful things about you and you better take it because we're your friends!" That would be weird. A little incongruous. It would be worse if, while they stuck a knife in your back, they told you that someone else was going to stick a knife in your back but that THAT friend wouldn't really be your friend...

We all saw this sort of friendship unfold twice in one week with that group of friends know as "the regulars". Two of their friends had commited egregious acts against the regs. One fella, accused of being rather wordy in his posts, refused to take a verbal ass-whupping from a higher ranking reg because of his lengthy posts. One after another, other regs came to join the verbal beat-down of their friend. There is a pecking order. He went up against someone with more rank than him- someone who was more of a friend to the regs than he- and he had to pay the price for that. What are friends for, if not to remind you just how good of a friend you are?

A few days later, a young woman made the mistake of laughing at a post that your's truly had made. Dedicated non-readers of this blog know that me and the regs don't get along. Though they treat me like a friend... I am NOT their friend. To wit, when they fuck with me, we go to the mattresses. I know who my friends are and aren't.

So, when this young woman laughed at my post, it was the final straw for some of the leading regs. She had shown pro-ferrerman sentiment in the past, something TOTALLY against the rules of the regs. Independent thought is frowned upon by the regs. She had been warned before! She broke her "double-secret probabtion"! So, at the command of 3e (or perhaps higher{?}) hell was unleashed! It wasn't pretty. Their version of friendship never is. They have two speeds: AWESOME and HOW DARE YOU!

Non-readers, I am not a gang. An army of one maybe but, not a gang. My two best friends are women. One, whom I've know for a year now, is a former "innie", the hierarchy of the regulars. The other, was a regular poster on the threads until she too got the friendship treatment from the regs. I trust these two with my very life. We love and respect each other as real friends do. They "have my back" but also know that I can take care of myself. I don't DEMAND that my friends walk through doors that I choose to open. They know that there's nobody here that I can't handle. They are wise enough to question why I bother and friend enough not to harangue me for doing so. They counsel but they don't tell me what to do. They think for themselves so, it follows that I will think for myself as well. Wow. Independent thought! What a concept!

And it works. I'm very lucky. No gang affiliation. Just real friends.


Monday, November 9, 2009


Over the weekend I received an "anonymous" comment on this blog from A770. It wasn't a comment really and, though it was on my post, "Everybody Must Get Stoned", it had nothing at all to do with that story.

What it was, was a sad and disgusting re-print of a once familiar rant of a Topix poster who hasn't been on-line in a few months. It was verbatim, a taunt this person used to use against people who attacked this person. A770 "signed" it with his screen name. She's a class act, eh? Definitely a coward.

Now, though it was "anonymous" and though it was "signed", I know who it WAS from and I know who it WAS NOT from.

Who amongst us has the time-and the "staff'- to research obscure quotes from obscure threads in Topix? Who else would bother? Who else would be so depraved as to leave THAT?

Anyone else would have left but a mean taunt as several others have in the past and opted to remain anonymous. Hell, I got a whole folder of one girl's "rants". She always left her name on her rants. Right or wrong as that may be, she wanted me to know those rants were from her. You gotta respect that. Well, I guess. They're still rants...

Anyway, A770 will apologize for this in her usual manner. She will say that she is sorry that I think that she wrote the disgusting, despicable, horrid rant and that, perhaps I believe this because of some early childhood trauma. Poor parenting perhaps? She will recommend counseling...

She won't admit to doing it. She'll only be sorry that I think she did.

However, unless she is completely insane, she has to live with what she did. Everytime she tries to pass herself off as a therapist whose mission in life is to help and cure, she will have to face up to the demon inside her that posted the vulgar rant, the rant that was not meant to help but to hurt. I've said it before, I'll say it again: Therapist- heal thyself!

That's not gonna happen...

So, from here on out, no more anonymous comments on this blog. Simply sign up for a google account and we'll take it from there.

It might make a man or a woman out of you (provided you've met life half way already as one or the other).

Sunday, November 8, 2009

The Song Remains the Same

There's a little old thread in the Chicago Forum called the Quorum

Introvert Quorum!

It is run by 770 come and take her test in the Ouorum

Introvert Quorum!

They're all girls you bet
Race ain't one (well not yet...)

In the Quorum

Introvert Quorum!

And that's Uncle Joe he's a thinkin' kinda slow

In the Quorum

Introvert Quorum!

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Everybody Must Get Stoned

T is a huge Bob Dylan fan. So am I. We have both seen Martin Scorcese's "No Direction Home" several times and, in a recent discussion, I asked her if she had ever heard that the singer, Jewel, had referred to Bob as "(an) old homo" because he had declined to sleep with her. T had not heard that. She did not believe that assertion. He's Bob Dylan. Damn.

Women, throughout history, have done most of the romantic rejecting whether it be the playground, the senior prom or This side of movie stars, athelete's and rock star's, that's just the way it is. Men have to be in a desirable position of power- or be a pizza delivery man with a difference (as in the porno's)- to be in a position to reject women. Otherwise, we're supposed to take what is offered to us and like it.

Women do not handle rejection very well. If they are good looking, like Jewel, who like a few million other women in the world could walk into any bar in the world, offer their body and be swamped with acceptance, they won't fret much about rejection. Your average, non-celebrity good looking guy, probably couldn't do as well in the same situation. (For the record, I haven't tried. Believing as I do that a man's got to know his limitations, I probably would tire after three or four women and want to fall asleep to SportsCenter. So, what's the point? )

I had to reject a woman once. I was maybe 25 and she was in her mid-fifties. She was the ex-mother in law of my ex- step brother, Timmy (if you're scoring at home) and, I wasn't the least bit attracted to her though she was wild about me. This was back in the 80's, before "cougars" were invented. I think she was a badger. I don't recall her name but, I'll call her "D" here. D had been married seven time's before but, I'm not certain that any one of them was an 'enry. I had suspected that as many as six of them might have been prison lifer's though. Regardless, I wasn't about to be 'er eighth ol' man, Ferrerman. Despite her marital history, D was simply not an attractive woman to a young fella such as myself who was as young and pretty (at the time) as like to think I was...

Anyway, D had shown up at a bar me and Timmy were at one night, and she made it clear that her sights were set on me. As luck would have it, Diane, a co-worker of mine, also showed up that night. While D was freshening up in the badger's room, I met Diane at the door, explained the situation to her and asked her to be my girlfriend for the evening. She cheerfully obliged.

I don't know that I could have picked a better faux girlfriend. Diane was of Puertorican/Dominican extraction. Exotic and dark, she could pass for Jennifer Beals and had actually done so in a bar one night. Her girlfriend had playfully run a bluff on the manager of a latenight place and she and "Jennifer Beals" were rewarded with champagne and drinks on the house. Diane waitressed where I tended bar. She was pretty good at that but, her greatest talent was that she could change out of her work clothes (slacks) and into a dress to go to a club. Oh, I should mention she did this while DRIVING. Very talented. I drove behind her twice while she did this. Please, kids- don't try this stunt in your car. She pulled it off (along with her pants and all) but, it's not a good idea.

I introduced her to D as my girlfriend. Diane and I smooched and caressed each other, as lovers do. D cast a suspicious eye. She began to ask questions. Diane and I had worked and partied together for several months at that point so, we knew each other pretty well as friends. We hadn't had much time to concoct a background story but, we were both good at winging it. We were pretty good at making out too.

"I could get used to this", I whispered to Diane as she nibbled on my neck.

"It's just for tonight," she cooed back, her lips rising to my ear.

True. Good looking as she was, Diane was a little wacky for me. We liked each other but, we fought a lot while working. She was no more full-time girlfriend material for me than I was full-time boyfriend material for her. I think we had both reached that conclusion long before that night. But, ya know, when you're making out with somebody, you can't help but wonder...

A reasonable woman in D's position would quickly realize that she was over-matched by Diane. D was not a reasonable woman but, she eventually gave in that night, bowing to the youth and beauty of Diane. She reluctantly gave us her blessing, the night ended and all concerned went home safe, un-satisfied but with all feelings intact. Nobody got hurt.

I still feel a little bad for D. Perhaps she was once as young and pretty as she used to like to think she was. Seven husbands, ya know. But when I met her she was twice my age and playing in a different league than I. Rejection is never easy but, if a man or a woman know's their limitations- if not their desires and needs- rejection doesn't have to happen. In a sense, Diane had already "rejected" me prior to that evening because we had never hooked up before. They say that women know in something like 10 seconds if they would like to sleep with a man or not. Same for men, I reckon. That all seems fair and normal human behavior to me. The problem arises, in both men and women, if you "know" within 10 seconds that you WILL sleep with that person. Self-deception is not limited to short, fat bald guys.

It was ignorant of Jewel to validate herself by attempting to tarnish Dylan's sexuality with his reputed brush off of her. He couldn't possibly not be interested in her, too old for her? He just had to be an "old homo"? Please. He's Bob Dylan.

Jewel will one day be in her sixties. She may set her sights one day on a young, up and coming folk/pop star. He may go for that, may opt to get himself not just a piece but a piece of folk/pop history.

Or, he might just pass on the "old dyke"...

Well I would not feel so all alone...

Friday, October 30, 2009

Virtual Reality

Someone on a thread (I believe it was on the Offbeat forum) recently wondered aloud if any regular posters on that venue ever shared with other's in real life, the very fact that they were regular posters.

Hmm. Interesting question.

In my own case, I have told friends and family that I used to be a regular poster on Topix. I was neither proud of this nor ashamed. It was and occasionally still is, one of those things that seemed like the thing to do at the time... Tens of thousands of people do it every day. Thousands of those people also do it as dozens of other identities every day. It's very popular.

Years ago, I had a young step-brother who was heavily into Dungeons & Dragons. Evidently this was some sort of virtual reality game played by geeks. None of us in the family objected to Eddie playing this game. We only objected to him TALKING ABOUT IT! We didn't want to hear about fairies and trolls and whatever he was yammering about, seemingly ALL THE TIME!

Topix is the same way even though it's not actually a game. People have virtual friendships complete with alliance's and enemies. Sometimes virtual tea and (fat-free) cookies are served. And often, real life trial's and tribulations are shared with one's virtual friends and enemies. This is where the lines get blurred. Most everyone reaches a point where they discuss real life with imaginary people. Well, okay, that's not too weird I guess. There is an exchange of thoughts and feelings with un-seen people. It's, at times, kinda like a big ol' Dear Abby letter on steroids. It's not that bad, in that respect. You could consider it as an expanded, almost instantaneous version of pen-pals. It's basicaly harmless, new age, time-killing "fun".

But, would you tell your real life friends, family and neighbors about your time spent on Topix?

I doubt few Topix posters would. Again, I've told my people that I go there but, it's like Vegas in that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. What happens in Topix most likely stays in Topix.

Would you, perhaps at an IRL family party, have this conversation with your siblings:

"So, then this troll comes on. He starts messing with Uncle Joe! And Tamora Rose steps in and she says: 'People DFTT!' And Angelique- she' so pretty!- she misses Nancy, who was like the best troll EVER! And PEllen thinks she knows who the troll is but Angela thinks it might be that Ferrerman cause he's got mad internet skills and can be anybody, anywhere, ANYTIME! E E E said so! Don't forget that he published teri@home's address, phone number, a google map to her house, her ENTIRE FAMILY HISTORY- not to mention her shoe size- which really is a very wrong thing to do! And Roo's new boyfriend turned out to be a jerk, AS ALL MEN ARE! (except rational! E say's he's "hunky"). Well, all of our reg boys are! Except maybe Edogxxx! He's a jerk! Nobody knows where Raptor is. Have you guys seen him?

I don't think so. They, like us back in the day with Eddie, would most likely reply: "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I don't guess that virtual Topix worlds make it into too many IRL conversations. It, like masturbation, is probably best left unsaid in conversation. If you must talk about THAT, well, there is the Kittens thread...

These are grown men and women ranging in age fron 25 to 60+, discussing friends, enemies and trolls everyday. One woman recently broke up with her IRL boyfriend. I wonder if she ever shared her virtual world with this guy? She must have shown him around to her IRL family, friends and neighbors. Did she show him around her virtual world? I doubt it. There would be some explaining involved. Her virtual world knew intimate details about their relationship, like girlfriend's do IRL but, this is girlfriend's plus thousands of other people. And, true, these thousands of people don't actually know the girl or the boy and so, in that respect, it doesn't really matter. Or, does it?

In real life, would you have friends that your loved one was never to know about? Would you zealously guard these friends and keep your loved one from knowing of their existence?

Why hide an imaginary world from your loved one? Shame? Embarrassment?

Real life is hard. Real love and friendship is hard. Love comes and goes- all too often with tears and heartache.

But, virtual worlds are always there. Fantasy awaits with open arms. Imaginary people don't go away, they just change avatars.

Beats reality, I guess. Bubble tea anyone?

Friday, October 16, 2009


Well, maybe. I don't know. I don't actually know her. To me, she's just one of the dregs, one of the ninnies, who post on Topix. She has a blog which I read this morning but, evidently, it's not a Ferrerman friendly blog and I was not able to post a comment on it. (Which is interesting in itself. It seems that all these dregs who have made me their enemy have blogs and they all are deeply offended that I screen the comments made on my blog. I do this simply to weed out the riff-raff but they see it as "cowardly". Hmmm, the people that call me "cowardly" are the same people who require "invitations" simply to view their blogs. You have to be part of the gang. Well, everybody has a blog like that only they call it "e-mail". The comment feature also means that people can communicate with me without revealing their identities to others. Some members of that gang choose to agree with me about some things and they would rather not incur the wrath of the powers that be. I DO understand that. And, thanks to 3e, I do have to screen for vulgarities as well as personal info about others. I've got a folder with her comments in them called "E's rants". But, MY blog is still open to the public so, nannie-nannie boo-boo! )

But, this is about Jay_Lee's awesomeness. Kid, you might be awesome; you might not be. This is not the call of someone who has never met you, to make. If your friend's think you're awesome, and if we are talking about your in real life friends, you might be awesome. But, if it's people on the internet, you might not be awesome. If it's people who don't have living, breathing, real-life contact with you, you might not be awesome. I'll tell you why.

Haven't you noticed that all the regular's are awesome? All are beautiful or handsome? The girl's are all hot and the guy's are all hunky? See a pattern?

These are platitudes. They are given out with the regularity of bubble tea and cookies. And they have the same emotional nutritional value as internet goodies. You should give this the same weight you would if they told you that you sucked, were a loser or- oh my gosh- a troll.

It doesn't mean shit.

Remember, I was part of that happy-fun club known as the regulars. I was handsome, hunky and maybe even awesome. I was asked to come offshore before I had the vaguest notion of what that was all about. I declined. I'm like Groucho Marx in that I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member. This is not for lack of self-esteem. I'm fairly well stocked up on that. It's simply that I'm not a joiner by nature and I didn't see anything to actually join. It seemed like a relatively harmless, fun bunch of posters compared to other aspects of Topix but again, what's to join? You make a post and others either respond or they don't. It's open to the public, even Ferrermen.

Now, am I no longer handsome, hunky or even awesome? I don't think that I ever really was. I know that none of the regs- not knowing me at all- were qualified to make those calls. In real life, though not as young and pretty as I used to like to think I was, I'm still relatively handsome but, i don't think I was even hunky at 19. I've been awesome but, we shouldn't go there right now.

The point is, you should not let platitudes from strangers- no matter how well you think you know them- define you anymore than you should let the slings and arrows of other people, define you. It's indeed nice that at this period in your life when you are down, people are telling you you are awesome and that they love you but, is it helping? You are depressed. These people are telling you to cheer up. If you were a drug addict they would be like Nancy Reagan and tell you to just say "no". You already know how hard your life is. People telling you that you're awesome will not fix that. You live in the south. You know what "bless her heart..." means.

The only person that can make you happy is you. I bet you don't lie to yourself and tell you that you are awesome. You know better. You're just a person, just a woman trying to be happy in life, trying to make it. Well, welcome to the club. Except for the woman part, that's me! And everybody else in this world. We're all in this together but, when we lay down to sleep at night, we are alone no matter whom may lay beside us. The most difficult person- and the easiest- to live with is ourself. Don't fret about love. It may never happen. You already know the truest love, the best love, is your child. Your happiness lies in her happiness. Everything is just life and must be dealt with as best we can.

That's all I've got. That's all you need to know. I hope this clears that up.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Edumacate me

Stever and I were taking a break when a woman approached and chatted us up on the work we were doing at the mall. She seemed to know a bit about painting, peppering her conversation with "...when we do (this and that)..." I gathered that she was an interior decorator and that she wanted to impress me with her knowledge. She told us that she had recently done a faux tin ceiling at a bank in town and that it was so good that the general contractor got up on a ladder to inspect it and make sure she hadn't actually tricked him and installed a real tin ceiling instead.

I was halfway through my smoke and too far into this conversation, I thought. But, I went ahead and asked her about it anyway. She told me couldn't tell me how to do it.

"I'm a broke-down, wore out, ol' commercial painter, ma'm but I think I can keep up with ya'"

"Let me put it this way", she said, "I WON'T tell ya how to do it."

I was taken aback. Stever, who was not one to suffer fool's gladly, walked off shaking his head.

"Well, break time's over! Very nice chatting with you!" I walked away.

I actually had been slightly curious about how to do a faux tin ceiling and, while such finishes are not part of my resume, I could be walked through such an endeavor without stumbling too much. Clearly, she was not going to walk with me/talk with me. Except for her own self aggrandizement, why had she brought it up? I was running a crew re-painting a mall. I doubt I gave the impression that I was hoping to steal her thunder and skills and repaint the mall in a faux tin motif.

Our boss, Little Jimmy, was the same way. He had me prime a steel door in a lease recently so that he could put a faux finish on it to mimic the stained Oak doors elsewhere in the lease. That I wanted to see. Little Jimmy told me to leave. He did not want me to witness the technique.

"Don't you think this is something I should know how to do for the good of the company?" I argued. He did not. "Well, suppose you went into a coma because I beat you about the head with a 2 to 4 pole 'cause you wouldn't show me how to do a door like this. How would the door get done?"

Jimmy sighed. He knew I wasn't gonna brain him. He also knew I wasn't going to go away. He showed me his big-time trick.

It isn't magic. The tips and techniques are all out there in books and on TV and the internet whether it be a door or- I guess- the most wonderful fake tin ceiling in town. (I never checked on that ceiling. It WAS probably good but i'm pretty sure the contractor was humoring her and was better at that than Stever or I) The thing is, there should be a teacher inside of all of us. Too few let that teacher out. I know more about painting than anyone who might read this will ever know, or want to know. None of this information is classified. I've yet given anyone the benefit of my knowledge and then killed them. I probably won't. The reality of it is, though it is how I pay the bills, not everyone can afford to pay someone to paint for them. They have to do it themselves and they need help and are smart enough to ask questions of the right people. On the job, various tradesmen would ask me about painting. Quid pro quo, they were always there for my questions about electrical or plumbing. It's a damn decent thing to do.

Those who can, do. Those who can, also teach.

Oh- Little Jimmy's door? This was ten years ago, it was a one time deal for me but, I'll try to walk you through it with what I recollect. With the steel door painted a beige color for a background, we them mixed up a quart of sealer and oak stain. This is all experimental but I think we wound up with a fifty/fifty mix. You then drag a brush lengthwise down the door to mimic the grain of wood. You play with it until it looks right. Nature isn't perfect and neither should you be. Randomness is the key to any faux finish. Dab the brush to imitate a knot. There's no one way of doing something like this. The glaze has a fair working time with it but, if it does set up on you, it can be wiped off with a rag soaked in thinner and you can start again. When you're done- when it looks like a wood-grained door, let it dry over-night. Then roll a coat of sealer or varnish to protect it. No big deal. Like I said, it's been ten years. If I left a step out it's because I'm old and i've lost a step or two over the years. It wasn't because I'm evil or secretive. Oh, and bake at 350 degrees for one hour. Enjoy!

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Just a Thought

Whenever the question of the death penalty comes up, even the most liberal of people consider that it might be okay for "the really guilty one's- like Gacy or Bundy..."

Yeah, them guy's that are extra guilty and everybody knows it.

Nope. Guilty as those guy's did prove to be, they are abberations even in the world of scumbag murderers. Not everyone convicted of murder is guilty. They may have had poor legal representation. They may have had vindictive or confused eye-witnesses testifying against them. Or, like the father in Texas- since proved innocent- a bogus "expert" may have testified that they did something heinous only to later have others prove the circumstances to be tragically accidental. You can't give that man his life back. Dozen's of men have been freed in the last decade as the new evidence of DNA cleared them in rapes and murders. Life in prison, falsely convicted of a crime, sucks. Death in prison, falsely convicted of a crime, is irreversible.

The death penalty as it stands now isn't much of a deterrent to murder. People still kill spouses, gang rivals and innocent bystanders despite the possibility of capital punishment. Many people kill and don't even get life sentences. There are convicted murderers alongside us in traffic, at work, in the stores. Evidently they've been rehabilitated. Everyday that they don't kill someone is proof of that...

Despite laws, our prison's are bursting at the seams with criminals. Some people just don't get it and never will. If you've ever seen an episode of MSNBC's "LOCK UP" or The History Channel's "GANGLAND", you'll know this is true. Crime is so lucrative for some people that they don't really mind going to prison because they can still commit- and profit from- crime while locked up. The most notorious criminal organization in this country is the Mexican Mafia. A prison gang. The leaders control things from behind bars.

These people are not innocent, victims of the judicial system. They are career criminals who know and care about nothing else but commiting crime and violence. You cannot talk to them. You cannot hope to rehabilitate them. Their love for crime and the gang is inked permanently in their skin. They would as soon kill you as look at you. They just don't get it and never will. Never.

So, kill them. Take a day, round up the hardest cases in every prison in the land, and put a bullet in the head of every murderous, hard-core, gang-loving slug. Don't do this quietly. Advertise it. Let those on the streets know that there are new vacancies in the prisons. If your desire in life is to be a gang-banging thug, we can change that for you. We are open for you. We care about you. But, if you don't care about "we the people" and you show us this commitment to crime and violence even while we seperate you from society, there's a bullet with your name on it. We'll keep your cot open for the next guy. Maybe he'll get it.

I'm not saying that we need to give up on people. We shouldn't stop trying to educate and rehabilitate those who got off to a bad start in life. We just need to realize that it's necessary to thin the herd a bit, that some just ain't gonna get it, no matter our best intentions. I'm not talking about cutting off a thief's hand. There's no need for such brutality. I'm talking about the un-apologetic scumbags repeatedly found guilty of violent crimes who refuse to see the error of their ways even while incarcerated. Let them be an example for those in society who might think that violence is a good way of living one's life. If you see on the news that tens of thousands of vicious criminals were executed and you STILL want to beat a man for his wallet, well, there's a cot and a second chance for you. It might even be a good second chance with the prison predators out of the way.

Just a thought.

Real People

It seems I hardly even have to tweak the dregs any more. They are so busying fighting amongst themselves and hating the kid from Morris that they don't need me to raise their ire. "Introverts" eh? I guess in the way that wild dogs are introverted.

For example, one of them leaves the pack after his wife's blog is invaded by a miscreant. And the leader of this pack see's fit to publicly link the blog in the threads! As if this family hadn't already suffered enough grief, she tries ensure that more is possible by posting a link to a blog that nobody even knew existed!

And yours truly, who is STILL getting chastised for "posting someone's personal info" -something I did not even come CLOSE to doing- see's where their clueless leader has no problem regularly posting the real first name of one of her gang. Really now, is that necessary? True, he has a common first name but, I get raked over the coals for juxtaposing a few letters in what anybody would see as an run-of-the-mill post and then the dregs CALL ATTENTION TO IT THEMSELVES effectively begging people to unscramble the letters and - I don't know- unleash the hounds of Hell? Puh-leez! And, new members of the gang, at orientation I suppose, are taught that _I_ am evil? How long before these knuckleheads are told to strap explosives to themselves? How long before they DO IT? Take one for the team...virtual BJ's await you in the hereafter...just pull the cord when you get into this thread, scream ANGELIQUE AKBAR!'ll be fine...bubble tea?

I wish I could make these people up. But, like fearless leader once said: "Must kill moose and squirrel".

Oops! Wrong fearless leader! This one says: "These stories write themselves!"

And, they do. "Real" people from the threads, submitted for your approval...

I'm off to tend my garden now.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

High Plains Ferrerman

It was a dark and stormy night when the High Plains Ferrerman rode into Topix Town. Somewhere outside, a dog was barking.

and Hell followed with him...

He set into the AmyAbbyville section of Topix Town, a little enclave that had seen better days. It had been a thriving community full of lively conversation, controversy and even humor until one day the newspaper pulled up stakes, leaving the denizens of the town high, dry and devoid of topics to discuss. With the newspaper gone, hundreds of people left overnight for parts unknown. AmyAbbyville had just about become a ghost town with just a few "regulars" and some folks who had aimlessly drifted into town and clung to the "regs" for protection from trolls.

The "Regulars" had always thought they had run AmyAbbyville. Now it appeared they did. There wasn't much to run though. It seemed that most of the citizens stood around discussing social issues of the day until they tired of that and the conversation turned to sexual prowess. Several of the ladies were actresses, he gathered, because they were always talking about performing fellatio. However, they all loved and revered their boyfriends, each of which was named Bob. There were some dudes in AmyAbbyville. Ferrerman didn't care. They seemed like Bob's too.

AmyAbbyville was ruled by an unseen force known only by a set of numbers. "770" sat behind a curtain day and night, writing and re-writing the rules of the town. Her decrees were enforced by a large, fierce woman of three letters. Conversation was controlled by her. 770 would decide where and when politics would be discussed and the 3 lettered girl would stand guard. Though sex talk was frowned upon by 770, she allowed the 3 lettered girl much lee-way over that because it appealed to the prurient senses of the masses and she got vicarious kicks from the sexual urges of plain folk and their common, orgasmic ways. It never snowed down south but, things were a little frosty just the same.

Ferrerman made the aquaintance of a dancehall gal, known as "amc". A comely lass with the heart of a heart of gold. amc schooled him on the ways and means of AmyAbbyville. Much of it was mean. The regs had been mean to an old man who shouted when he spoke. 770 herself had run out of town a man and his young daughter when the man dared to be proud of his girl's scholarly acumen. There were more crimes, most too hideous to mention. Even a jaded Ferrerman was shocked. He asked if anyone had ever taken up for these people- stood up to the bullies.

There was a man, she said. His name was "ex-ferrer". He was an infrancinanophile.

"He's the reason this town's afeared a strangers!"

And what had happened to this man? She didn't want to talk about it...her thoughts seemed to drift off...she flashed back to a night of whips...frightened, laughing towns people...

Oops! That was just a typical fantasy of 770. She was kinda freaky that way. The ex-ferrer had just left town one day. Probably off on one of his forays into Guntown or Obamaburg. Who knows? So many had left AmyAbbyville never to be heard from again. She was fittin' to leave herself. The town was just too mean. She left the next day.

Ferrerman knew what to do. He ordered 300 gallons of red paint. He left it in the middle of town. The regs, drunk on an elixar known as "bubble tea" (secret ingredient: crack) poured the paint all over the town. Maniacal laughter filled the air. The frenzy lasted all night into the wee hours of the morn. Ferrerman watched, shaking his head at the sight. The fools! They just didn't know that red cannot cover itself. You need at least a white background but a blueish/gray primer is best. But, they sure looked comical. When sober, they would be back to their mean ways. The paint would wear thin and become a pinkish hue that would flatter the ladies and dudes alike. Rather fitting for a town without pity.

Ferrerman rode slowly out of town pausing to erect a sign on the outskirts. The three lettered girl cried out: "Come back, Ferrerman! 770 loves you! I love you!"

The three lettered girl then looked at the sign. She looked at Ferrerman riding away. "A mighty impressive erection" she said.

Wasn't much of a sign though. It simply said: "Hell".

And Hell fell behind him as he rode north...

Friday, October 2, 2009

Olympic Nightmares

When George W. Bush was president, I used to tease republican friends (and foes) with this question: "Do you think that if anything ever happens to Dick Cheney, George Bush would make a good president?"

People don't always listen and some answered the query as they expected it to be asked (the other way around) and some scowled at my skewed perspective. I imagine they wrote it off as the sour grapes of the losing "side".

Well, the Bush/Cheney era was the other way around and history will see it as such. George W. Bush was the titular head of the United States of America for eight years. Cheney ran the country. This didn't work out very well except for the very small percentage of people who were already filthy rich but who became filthier and richer under the Cheney administration. And it didn't work out well at all for the tens of thousands of men, women and children who have died in Iraq and for our soldiers and Marines who have perished as well. But Cheney and his pals got theirs. And they had and will continue to have, the love and support of all true Americans.

Why does FOXNEWS hate America? Is it because America elected a (colored) president who hates white people? Is it because this (colored) president is a socialist/marxist/communist/messiah/anti-christ?

No. FOXNEWS LOVES America because of this man, Obama. They show their love for America 24/7 by condemning Obama for everything he does.

Everything. If he were a real president, he would have not gone to Copenhagen to stump for the Olympics to be held in America. He would have been here, in America, solving the many problems we have in this country, while he cleared brush on his ranch in Texas.

Oh, but he doesn't have a ranch in Texas!. That's right. He has a home in Chicago! Where he wanted the Olympics to be he could rent out his house for big bucks in 2016...

You haven't heard that yet? You might not. That conspiracy bone doesn't even have enough meat on it even for the rat bastards at FOX to gnaw on. Maybe someone in a birther thread on Topix might run with it. Glen Beck won't shed any tears over this morsel. I imagine the big rancid meat of politics is to be found on the bone that is that a President of the United States would care that ANY city in America might host the Olympics. Clearly Obama meant to profit from Chicago getting the Olympics because THAT is the "Chicago way" (repeat: " al" and then gnash some biblical teeth here).

And, ya know, a real President wouldn't bother with this black thing or be half-white. A REAL president would be ALL white just like every president we had before. And he wouldn't be so ostentatious as to be President. He'd be vice-president. He'd let some knucklehead put up the front of presidency while he quietly ran things from the sanctity of his bunker. Goddamn it- that's the way the last guy did it and things were great back then, last year before ACORN stole the election from Palin/McCain...

Ah but I sound bitter. I guess that's just the sour grapes whine of all us anti-Americans who went against the status quo and elected a man to un-intercourse the carnage of the last eight years when we had a perfectly suitable ball o' fluff and her grandad to continue the wonder years of this generation.

Chicago didn't lose the Olympics- America did. Evidently, "real" Americans are happy about that.

We won't need the Olympics until Palin/Fill N Theblank get's elected in, oh, maybe 2016. THEN, it will be a priority and probably brought to you by your friends at FOX. They'll be the same folks who brought you that ticket. Everything they say and do now is for your future, America. Gosh, I don't think anyone has loved this country so much since Adolf Hitler and friends...

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

True Lies

Sometimes it seems my lot in life is to keep other people's stories straight for them.

I tend to listen when people talk. You're supposed to do this to be polite but, it also helps in evaluating people and figuring whether you can trust them or not. It's always good to know how far you can throw them if need be.

Take the "psychologist/therapist" from the Amy/Abby threads. She's always French (for what that is worth) but she's sometimes born and raised in France and sometimes born and raised in America. But always French. Her birthplace and country of upbringing change whenever she is stumped by something pertaining to American pop culture. She was, for example, unfamiliar with the Madeline series of books for girls of grammar school age about a girl growing up in a boarding school in Europe. Now, i only know about these books because over the years my nieces have discussed them. They're kinda big in Europe as well as here and have been made into TV shows and films. I would bet that little French girls read them as well as, I believe, much of the story is set in France.

Well, I guess she had her little French head buried in books about Freud and Nietzsche all that time. And, when the American gym class sport of dodgeball came up, she had no knowledge of it (despite having suddenly been born and raised in America) because she had led a sheltered life in expensive private schools where such activities were not pursued. Okey dokey. Whatever floats one's yacht, I always never say.

But, enough about her. If you can fathom a "psyhcologist/therapist" who has zero knowledge of serial killer Ted Bundy, you've been way over served your bubble tea.

This is about a liar I worked with whom I'll call Ricky Varnish. Varnish is not his real name but it's real close and I'm being cute here because he used to paint with me and, when I wasn't calling him "Preacher my ass!", I was telling him he should tell people his name was "Varnish" cause he liked to varnish the truth. I was being polite with that last comment. The guy was what we in the business call "a fucking liar".

Ricky was a con man. He liked to portray himself as a preacher. There seemed to be one of those on every crew I worked on. Usually they were recovering alcoholics/drug addicts who, as part of getting straight, had to find Jesus. (Good for anyone who does find Jesus in the bottom of a whiskey bottle or at the end of a crack pipe. Good luck to you! No, I can't loan you $20 but I'm VERY happy for you!) But, Ricky took the presentation one step further. He had his own church. Not many guys went that far.

I don't recall where it was. Why remember a place that doesn't exist? He talked about it all the time though 'cause if people hear something often enough, they are inclined to believe it. You know- like if you want people to believe you are French, for example, frequently mention that you are French and- Viola!- you are French!

What Ricky wasn't good at was reciting passages from the Bible. Leastways, he never did this around me. I'm not at all religious and I can easily be fooled by phony bible verses. I think that John 3:16 means "Kick it HERE!" I didn't much care about his full-of-baloney calling. I wasn't buying it and he wasn't trying to sell it to me. I don't think the guy ever hit me up for money though he was into most everyone else on the crew for $20 or more even though few believed he was the least bit Christian, much less a minister. He saved the sizzle on his cheeseburgers for people with more money than us painters. He solicited "donations" for "(his) church" from the tenants whose lease's we were painting. It's not unusual in the south for a guy to have a little store-front church and a full time job. I worked with a couple of Black dude's whom I didn't doubt really were preachers with their own church. One of them, Jerry, regularly regaled us with scripture. He even rebuked me in the name of Jesus once. I was his boss but I wasn't in charge of paying him. My job was to tell our boss that he couldn't paint for shit and our boss decided to pay him a very low wage. Jerry had managed to get hired without bothering to nail down what his pay would be. It probably says somewhere in the bible that you shouldn't do that but our little Ceasar of a boss rendered unto Jerry what you might pay a guy just starting out in the trade though Jerry had his sights set on Ferrerman money. That wasn't ever gonna happen. I hoped that Jerry hadn't painted his own church but, that might have been where his "seven years" of experience came from. The guy was slow...

Ricky didn't earn his money either but he had some talent as a painter. Mostly though, he was able to talk his way through a job. At our last job together, it took FIVE tries to fire him. He kept talking his way back to work. A foreman would fire him and the boss would listen to him, feel bad for him, and send him to another foreman.The lead foreman fired him twice before it took. And when he was finally fired- for eternity this time- he talked his way into a maintenence position at the church my company was doing a massive remodel for. He also talked their minister out of $500 he needed to get the lights turned on at his home so that his fiance who was dying of cancer could have heat and light to read the good book by...and he never showed again.

No doubt a crack dealer got that money. There was no fiance. Ricky was a crackhead. He was one of those that would binge and purge. He appeared normal compared to most that I've known- just goofy. Really goofy when you consider that during one of his purge periods he managed to blow $2000 in one night at a titty bar outside Dothan Alabama without even, um, getting blown, according to the fella's with him that night. Only an INSANE crackhead wastes money like that! You had to question his commitment to the drug. The two G's had probably come from donations he had received for the victims of a tornado that had hit a nearby Alabama town that year. Maybe some of those victims had only g-strings to wear...

You just never know. I like to err on the side of caution. From the safety of the internet people can be what they want to be. This side of a Nigerian Prince, who cares? But if I ever work with another painter who tells me he's a preacher, I'll tell him the Ricky Varnish story. I might then give him twenty bucks just to go away.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

The Game Of Life

The other day, the Chicago Cubs suspended Milton Bradley for the final 15 games of the season effectively ending his reign of terror and ineptitude. He was by far the worst free-agent signing in the history of Chicago sports. The team can only hope that some General Manager, one stupider than our own Jim Hendry, will take a chance that this once-decent ballplayer might jell with his team like Hendry foolishly thought Bradley might with the Cubs. It could happen but, I doubt it. It could happen if, just to get rid of the clown, the Cubs pay his contract and a GM picks up on that and decides: "What the Hell- he's free..."

Can you imagine a team and a city being so happy to be rid of a guy that they would pay $21 million for him to go away? Or not even play at all? You can if you can imagine a guy who has enough talent to make it to the major leagues but not enough heart or common sense to stay.

In the movie "Field of Dreams", Burt Lancaster played a character named Moonlight Graham, a guy who had played one game in the majors but never got to bat. The season ended, his contract with the New York Giants wasn't picked up and he went off to Minnesota and became a doctor.

There was, in baseball, an actual player named Moonlight Graham who played in one game for the New York Giants in 1905. He did not bat. If a man ever played an inning in the majors, his stats are in the Baseball Encyclopedia. You can look it up. As for him being a ghost and getting a big league at bat with Shoeless Joe Jackson and some other ex-ballplayers who live in a cornfield in the hereafter, well, the official encyclopedia of baseball doesn't cover that. You just gotta believe the movie.

The man played a part of one game in the majors and never got a chance at the plate. But, he was a big leaguer. A ball player. A part of history.

Milton Bradley is in the book too even if he never plays another inning. He, however, is not in the same league as Moonlight Graham or any other man who played the game at it's highest level. You see, Milton Bradley doesn't give a damn about baseball, the city of Chicago or it's fans. He only cares about himself. What a shame. Chicago is the greatest city in the world, home to the greatest fans in baseball, who watch fairly decent teams play year after year in the best ballpark for baseball that there ever was or will be.

Bradley is pissing all that away. He'll collect his $21 million- the Players Association and, perhaps, Al Sharpton will see to that. Fuck him. Take the money. Cash in your dream. You were not worthy anyway.

Late in September of 1905, a young man named Moonlight Graham stood in right field for the New York Giants.

THAT man, was a ballplayer.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Saturday Morning At The Agenda Cafe

I don't know what I was thinking. Well, I was thinking of breakfast but, why I chose The Agenda Cafe is just beyond silly. The service is terrible there. One waiter, everyone competeing for his attention.

There was a new customer this morning. She was kinda mousey looking. She perused the menu quietly then DEMANDED to know why there weren't any introverts on the menu. The waiter seemed confused.

"We serve blacks, Mexicans, gays and lesbians, women, handicapped people, gun-nuts, all varieties of disenfranchised Republicans- "

She cut him off. "But, no introverts! Why don't you serve introverts!?"

"Well", he replied, "there doesn't seem to be much of a call for those. What with all these other groups screaming for attention, why should we cater to introverts?"

"Because we want to be left alone!"

The waiter, puzzled by the incongruity of her declaration, decided to give her what she seemed to want. He left her table to attend to attend to some left-handed diners puzzled at the injustice of their tableware. Why aren't there left-handed forks, knives and spoons...

I left the cafe myself. Clearly I wasn't even going to get a cup of coffee this morning. I headed off to Mickey D's where everyone gets served eventually and they do not discriminate. Fed, and with a large black coffee to go, I walked past the Agenda Cafe and noticed the introverted gal curled up in a ball in her chair, rocking back and forth. Even through the glass I could hear her demanding to be left alone.

Do we need another minority group in this country? I don't think so. We are all minorities in the sense that each individual is special in their own right and has their own particular wants and needs that often are contrary to the majority. In fact, the silent majority of the individual is the largest minority in the whole world. I'm the only Ferrerman in the world. I don't feel the need to shout out for Ferrerman rights or to complain that the rest of society discriminates against Ferrerman. Sure, at times, some do discriminate against Ferrerman. Not everyone "gets" Ferrerman. Not everyone likes Ferrerman. Not everyone understands Ferrerman. No one truly knows what it's like to be Ferrerman. People want to change Ferrerman...

Should I then suffer in silence at the top of my lungs like others do? Should I organize a "Million Ferrerman March On Washington"? I think that if I did, it would fall short of that count by about 999,999. Should I start a blog about the superiority of Ferrerman as opposed to the inferiority of non-Ferrermans? Some say I already have but, they are wrong about that and haven't been paying close attention. There's that discrimination again...

No, I'll just go on in life as I always have, not belonging to any group that would have me as a member. I'm a Groucho Marxist in that respect. I'm still an infrancinophile- fighting for the true underdogs in life, those that need taking up for. It's what a Ferrerman does.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Thumbs Up!

My thumbnail finally fell off. I tell ya, if a part of your body falls off and you hold it in your hand, count your blessings if it's just a thumbnail.

About five weeks ago I was using one of those fold-up ladders you may have seen around. You might have one in your garage. If you do- shoot it. Kill it now before it kills you.

They're actually pretty good. This one is made by Keller, a known, good maker of ladders. It's a type I, solid hunk of aluminum, 17 feet extended. That it folds into four sections makes it practical to transport. It would sorta fit in a lot of car trunks and definitely fit in any truck. I like it. It just took some getting used to and, that first day, it almost took my thumb.

If I'm boring any lame-ass IT guys with this, sorry! Go on and think about how your advice column didn't work out. It wasn't because the world wasn't ready for a male advice columnist. They were ready for Jeff Zazlow some 25 years ago. The world just didn't need your sorry-ass take on things.

Anyway, I was breaking the ladder down to extend it when it collapsed REALLYFAST on my thumb. I had one side locked in and was fixing to do the other when it snapped shut. I almost got my hand out in time. It caught the tip of the thumb about 3/4".

I invented new swear words as I danced around the yard, horrible, disgusting words never before heard on this planet. I know this because I checked.

I cannot print them here because the copyright process is a slow one and though I seem to be stymied with that right now, I don't want someone with more legal smarts than me beating me out of my copyright. I already took the risk when I did some consulting of potential users of these words.

I first called the United States Navy. Sailors are known for their colorfull language. I had visions of government contracts on my mind. I spoke with an Admiral, a lifer. He told me that in his 25 years of service he had never heard such vulgarity. "The Navy has no use for such filth!" he declared before giving me the number for the Marines and telling me "Have a nice day, asshole!"

I didn't have any luck with the Marines either. Evidently they are not allowed to talk like "Full Metal Jacket" anymore. Who knew? And the Longshoreman's Union and the Teamsters wouldn't return my calls after several messages and hang-ups.

So, I found a copyright attorney who is gonna see what he can do. Mr. Smucatelli has the worlds prettiest receptionist. This gal is stacked. Damn good looking. Sally is kinda young though, maybe too young for me. I was certainly interested in her but, I don't think she reciprocated. I gave her a copy of my words. Well, she asked.

"Oh my!" she declared. "Are these the kind of things you would say while making passionate, violent love to a woman?"

Heavens no. I could never talk to a woman like that!

"Well, there goes my weekend" she sighed. "Yours too".

I don't know what she meant by that. You know how women are. They cab be very msyterious.

So, no word back yet from Smucatelli or Sally about the status of the copyright. But, I'm glad that the nail is off, a new one is on it's way and that raw, nasty flesh beneath the old nail is tougher than it looks.

Who knew?

Monday, September 14, 2009

Old soldiers

In the past few weeks I have had three "regulars" leave nice posts on my blog, questioning why I have such a problem with the dregs and why it must persist. These aren't ninnies, mind you, but three people rather new to the threads who have wondered what exactly has been going on and why. I WILL NOT reveal their screen names and I did not, as per their request, publish their comments. They do not care to be part of the witchhunt. They've read my blog and agree that the penis pic's were a lie and a very wrong thing for A770 to do. They get that. What they don't get it why I care. Well now, that's a good question.

They also get that she's most likely not a therapist at all. Yes, Ferrerman, it's the internet and people pretend to be people that they aren't. Even with the lie about the penis pic's, is this THAT big of a deal?

Not really. I saw through it about 10 months ago. These three came to conclusion on their own but, admittedly, I fueled that doubt with my posts on the matter. "She" may be a 300# dis-abled longshoreman named Chuck for all I know or care. If Chuck wants anonymous people on the internet to believe that he is female, French therapist with a practice and students and a lab filled with assistants- why should I care? Actually, I don't really care. But, s/he, Chuck/Angelique started this silly shit and it's been real and it's been loads of fun but, it's not real fun anymore.

There are two people who know the truth about the lie of the penis pic's. One's me and the other is Chuck/Angelique- A770 for short. That's it. Nobody else. Everyone else has a position. They either belive her, believe me or don't care. When that fucking retard rashional was making noise about sueing me for defamation of her character, I invited her to prove it. Show the cops in her city the picture(s) and the love-letter e-mails that she sometimes added were also sent and pursue a criminal or civil case. Just do it.

She didn't. Because, there was no proof. There was no proof because it did not happen.

The lie is out there, where all lies are. They're just there. If you want it, pick it up. If you don't, keep moving. Sure, I was pissed about the lie at first. You would be too. But, if a few anonymous girls who don't know me- will never know me- believe the lie of someone else on the internet (that they don't actually know either!) told them to be true, what difference does it make? For me, this isn't real life. It's just the internet. For too many of them, it IS their real life. It's all they've got.

So, we've come full cycle with her lie about the penis pic(S). (Sometimes there was one, others there were several thus the (s).) For a time, in a effort to get me to cop a plea, she offered that someone might have hijacked my Facebook account for the sole purpose of sending her dick pic(s). If I would have apologized for that, everything would have been okay...

But damn, I'm hard-headed. You just can't get me to admit to anything that I didn't do. I am not a team player, in that respect.

I also did not out anyone's real life name. So, no, I won't be apologizing for that either. That silly shit is not even worth discussing.

The three commenters seemed to just want the forum to return to the banality of the back and forth of what the Amy/Abby threads used to be before the Tribune bailed on Topix. They seemed bemused by the imaginary tea parties and just accepted it as part of the threads. Again, if 770 wants to pass herself off as a therapist, a psychologist or whatever, it doesn't really matter. Hey, the bubble tea is free, right? It doesn't matter.

Yeah, fine. It's silly and stupid but it's harmless enough. I don't guess these people care that there is a secret society of introverts and I respect that. They just want to discuss vegan breastfeeding and whatever else is in the letters each day. If they have strong opinions about a subject that go against the grain of the regulars, they still might wind up being ridiculed in a story by 770 but, it won't be seen in the Forum threads like they used to so, who cares?

These three, from what I've seen of their posts and what they told me here, have lives and just want a little diversion during their workday. And they would like this diversion to be good, harmless fun. I agree. Only one actually said this in so many words but, yes, if I quit posting this would all stop. I didn't *have* to but, it could help.

Sadly, this is true. It started with her lie but i kept fighting. The lie grew and now every post I make is seen as inflamatory and/or threatening. Things have gone beyond ridiculous. These assholes are so entrenched it isn't funny anymore. It WAS funny to me for a long time and it might have seemed funny to these three and other posters at times but it has now become a chore. I'm tired of it. I won but there is no peace in occupation.

So, for the innies who left, I will leave. And for these three anonymous posters, I will leave. But, most of all, I will leave for me. 'Cause this shit's gotten old.

And, uh, these dregs fight like a bunch of pussies anyway...

Friday, September 11, 2009

We had an entire floor to do at the Ridgeway Hotel in Memphis. I was running the job and it was in good shape. The deadline was that Friday and we would make that with ease. There were, of course, televisions in every room and I hoped my guys would work and not involve themselves in game shows all morning. We had no idea how those televisions would change our lives that day.

Someone came into the room I was working in and told me to put on CNN. A plane had just crashed into a building in New York.

My God! How could that happen?

We stopped to watch the drama. We speculated on how a pilot could make such a mistake. Was it a small plane with a novice at the yoke? What about all those poor people in their offices, working, minding their business. How many victims could there be? What an unfortunate tragedy! You just never know...

Then the second plane hit. This was no longer an accident.

I turned to Mr. Minor, a combat Marine veteran of Vietnam.

"We're at war. With who?" He did not answer. He had a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

We had to get back to work. Just had to. Our hearts and minds were in New York but we had work to do. Soon, important people came on the job. We didn't have until Friday anymore. Memphis International Airport was shut down, stranding thousands of passengers and every hotel room in Memphis was needed, NOW. Lou and Rodney came in from the shop. This job had to be done today and they promised me more men. The prissy hotel manager came upstairs to demand that the work be done NOW. We couldn't pull off. The nature of the beast of construction is that you do what you can, sometimes getting ahead of yourself and so, few of the rooms were ready for occupancy. The mornings initial dilemma, that the half the paint delivered was the wrong shade, needed to be addressed. Lou made the call to paint the rooms on one side the correct shade, the other side the wrong shade. Whatever. The building was either going to be remodeled in a year or demolished. Who would care? It just HAD to be done, NOW.

Hotel security decided to give us all name tags. Jose Arrellano, my Mexican friend, was the first to get one. They hadn't seen fit to question his citizenship, I thought. It's funny what people think- and don't think about- in times of crisis. Jose handed me my name tag.

I didn't exactly get extra help. I got two men to replace the two who left at three thirty. Their day was done. If we were, in fact, at war, I asked Lou, could I shoot them for desertion? In all seriousness he replied, "No".

With the help of the men who stayed and the men who joined, we got the job done. Housekeeping came on and cleaned up our mess as we moved along. We had stayed apprised of the horrific events on TV and heard all the facts and rumors as we worked to make shelter for our fellow Americans. The horrible carnage was replayed over and over. Someone had done a horrible, cowardly thing to our country and we were angry and afraid. There had been nothing we could do about it but our jobs.

The hotel manager reappeared to verify that we were done. I think it was around nine o'clock that night. He immediately noticed that the rooms on either side were different colors. He was not happy about this. Not at all.

"Motherfucker", I said to him, "there maybe 20,000 people dead in New York City and you fucking care that the colors are wrong?!"

He objected to me talking to him like that. My next trick might have been to slug him so, to avoid that I threw up my hands in contempt and walked away. If I didn't have a job the next day because of that, it was a job I didn't need to have. There seemed to be more important concerns in the world...

I had ridden to work with Harry that September morning. We got in his truck and rode away in silence into the night. We didn't want to talk about prissy managers, buildings tumbling down in fire and smoke or unseen, unknown enemies. We wanted to get drunk.

We stopped at a gas station for 12 packs. The price of gas was now $5 per gallon. I would NEVER patronize that store again. But, we got our beer. And 14 hours and four beers into the worst day in our american history, I went to sleep wondering, fearing, what kind of a world I would wake up to.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

My work often brings me into the homes of complete strangers. Friends, usually women, have asked if this ever bothered me, creeped me out. I'm not much at being a guest and I sure do prefer the comfort of my own home to others but, you gotta do what you gotta do to make a buck. So, no, I've never been scared in other people's homes. I have been a little creeped out after the fact.

Joe D. was an old bachelor. He was probably in his mid-fifties at the time. There was no wife or ex-wife to speak of and no photo's of the children in his Berwyn home. I recall that I had to delay work on his kitchen for a few days because I had taken sick. When I called him to advise him of the rhyme and reason to the delay, he assured me that my being sick was not a problem for him and I could come over and work. Um, no. That was why I was calling. I couldn't perform the work.

I got better in a couple of days and called and arranged a new start date. When I arrived at his house, he was on a three-way call with his mother and one of her friends.

"Ferrerman finally showed up, ma and Mrs Garflinerhuffle! He's actually here! You said he wouldn't show but he's actually here!"

A yellow flag arose in my mind. I was just a painter. Why was I the center of this guys universe? Why were his mother and Mrs Garflinerhuffle so concerned about my arrival? Weird and creepy but, I know how hard it is to get contractors to show up and people do get anxious.

Joe D. wasn't all that bad. Just a little out there I guessed. There wasn't a lot to the job and I finished in a timely fashion. We did the walk through and he was pleased with the work. He cut me a check.

"Why don't you come on down to the basement", he asked, "and have a beer with me? The fridge is broken and the beer is warm but, come on down stairs and let's have a beer."

Well I had heard about that broken fridge and the warm beer the entire time I worked in his house. It seemed to me that a smart guy would have iced that beer down in anticipation of a celebratory beer. Warm beer does not appeal to me but, neverminding that, I had a wife and kids to get home to so I begged off despite his overly persistent pleas. That persistence raised another yellow flag to me. The thought occurred to me that I could go down into that basement and never come back up- alive. He was old and I could take him but, not if I drank a drugged, warm beer. John Wayne Gacy had hinted that he had not acted alone and he took the names of his accomplices to his grave when he finally finished those awful clown paintings when the State got around to executing him. I'm being flippant of course but, better to err on the side of caution. I cashed the check and went home.

Nine o'clock that night, Joe D. called to advise me that I had left a tool at his house and he wanted me to come over and get it. He wanted me to come over "now". All my stuff was accounted for. I asked him to describe it. It's been years but, what ever tool it was, was not mine. I heard a male voice in the background. Joe then told me that his carpenter had discovered something wrong with my work and Joe needed me to come over "now" to remedy it. I asked him to describe the work. It had nothing to do with the scope of my work, work that he had signed off on earler that day. He protested that his carpenter said I needed to fix the problem and, again, it needed to be done "now".

"You tell your genius carpenter to fix it himself. I'm done with you." I hung up the phone. I think he called back several times, I may have answered once more but, it was late and I turned the phone off. I would never work for this clown again.

A few years later, I did some work for a very beautiful woman, in Bartlet Tn. I think it was her kids bedroom. There wasn't a lot to it. I painted the room and hung a border. She wasn't at all creepy like Joe D. had been. A deeply tanned brunette she was quite, smoking hot. I liked her a lot.

You never know about women. Sometimes you read signals wrong. Why did she change her daisy dukes five times that afternoon? Why did she throw herself down on the bed, her crotch in my face as I knelt down to do something by the bed? Why was she looking at me like that? Why had she brushed her ample breasts up against me as I reached up on a shelf to retrieve something she had asked for? She had seemed to be topless, brushing her hair in the bathroom with the door wide open earlier. Why? And, to this day, I will always wonder why I didn't backtrack to check what I thought I had seen...

Well, I know why. I was married and loyal to my wife. I wasn't a cheater. Surely I was mis-reading all these "signals" that weren't really there because, let's face it, I'm a guy and that's what we do. Her kids were in the house that whole day, playing. It was just my imagination running away from me that anything sexual would happen that day. She was an extremely desirable woman who just happened to be very sexy. I had met her husband that morning. She knew I was married. The kids were in the house for Gods sake. I'm such a tool. She couldn't have been topless with the door wide open...

I finshed the job to her satisfaction, collected the check and went home to the wife and kids.

Nine o'clock that night, the phone rang. It was her husband. He was supposed to have gone to the casinos that night with his brother. He was calling to tell me that I had left a tool at his home and that I should come over to get it right now. I asked him to describe the tool. It wasn't mine.

Suddenly, there was a problem with the border I had hung in the kids room. It needed to be addressed "now". I countered that it was late for both me and the kids and that I could look at it the next day. The kids, he said, wouldn't be a problem as they were at a sleep over. Well, I said it's late. He persisted. It was STILL late. He persisted... Call me tomorrow I said and I hung up.

They say that nothing good happens after midnight. I guess in my timezone, you could say nine o'clock. I don't think this couple were serial killers of painters like Joe D. may or may not have been but I couldn't see any good coming from a late night visit to their home. My first thought had been that the husband might have thought something had happened between his wife and I. Maybe he wanted to kick my ass. My second thought wasn't much better. Couples sometimes like to share... Some guys like to watch... It wasn't my idea of a good time anyway you sliced it.

Common sense tells you not to venture into bad neighborhoods during the day and most definitely not at night. That's a no-brainer. Work takes you into a lot of unfamilar territory and you do what you gotta do. I just prefer to do it during business hours. It's good to be safe at home.

Saturday, August 29, 2009


The only photographic evidence of her existence, prior to me, was a blurry shot of a blond headed girl of about four, opening a Christmas present. Though I thought this odd, I didn't question it. I was in love and though I felt cheated not being able to look into her past, I did not take it to heart.

Laura and I were at a party at Judy's house one night. She was three years younger than I and had gone to a different Highschool. Someone brought out a yearbook. I wanted to see my baby's school picture. She began to cry.

"If you look at that", she screamed, "I will never speak to you AGAIN!"

Wow. Girl's and their pictures! Who knew?

School pics can be as bad as drivers license photo's. Okay. I got that. There have been shots of me that I felt didn't flatter and i won't volunteer them to others. This 5'7", 117 pound, platinum haired beauty of mine had a right to be vain. I wouldn't judge her based on a bad photo. I had the real thing, in living beauty before me. I did not look at the yearbook.

Yes, it was odd that there were no family pictures of her. Her half-brother, Jim, had a photo studio at the time. There were plenty of current photo's of her, their other brother and sister and the parents. Just nothing prior to her 16th birthday. I come from a large family. There is photographic evidence of me and my six siblings from birth to today. My current FB profile pic shows me at age five. I'm still a cutie. That pic just portended my handsomeness...

Since I hadn't peeked at the pic that night at Judy's, Laura did not leave me. We dated for three years, married and divorced after about two years. That's a story for another day.

It was a few years after the divorce that I met Leslie, a girl who I worked with and who, it turned out, had grown up next door to Laura. Small world I thought. I knew the address, knew the house but hadn't recalled meeting Leslie back then. So, you knew Laura M, I asked.

"Yeah", she snarled, "I knew that fat, ugly pig!"

No. Perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe she meant Barb, Laura's not so attractive sister? My ex was thin, blond and very good looking. Barb, not so much. Perhaps Leslie was jealous. Maybe Laura had stolen a boy from her in school?

"That fat pig couldn't get any guy!" she declared.

Well, she had gotten ME! What was this 'fat, ugly, pig' business all about? I wasn't fond of Laura at this point in my life but, fair is fair. This had been a beautiful, desirable young woman. How could Leslie be so bitter and so wrong?

"Did you know she had a nose job?" Leslie offered.

This was incredible. Thin, blond and good looking as she was, the one thing you could physically disparage about Laura was her nose. It was a bit big. Just a bit. If she had had a nose job, I argued, it would have resulted in a cute, perky slightly turned up nose a la say, Meg Ryan. I told Leslie she was crazy. She told me she would bring in the yearbook the following evening.

Well, I'll be damned. Her picture didn't speak a thousand words, it spoke ten thousand. And then some. And most of those words would be followed by question marks.

Why, how, did this woman look so dramatically different from the age of 15 to 16? I looked at her and I saw Barb and their father. She had a nose that only a potato farmer could love. She seemed hulkish in the photo. Fat. I could understand the hair not being platinum. How many true blonds are there? I never cared about that. This had been one of the best kept secrets of the 20th century. In five years with this woman, no one had slipped up. They would talk about her beauty but never in "as compared to..." terms. Nobody had seen fit to mock her former self until Leslie even though hundreds of people, like Leslie, had known the before Laura as well as the after.

To Leslie, Laura would always be the 'before'- the "fat, ugly, pig!" No amount of plastic surgery could change that.

I was in shock. How could I have not known? Mind you- this was the one who had ripped out my heart, shown it to me and hoped I died. I could have laughed. I could have snickered. I could have gotten the last relationship word with this revelation. Fuck you pig!

What I got was closure. This had tied up the rise and fall of our love into a bundle that I could now stow away. NOW, I understood.

That July 3rd evening when I first laid eyes on the leggy, tanned blond might as well have been her birthday. The old Laura ceased to exist that night. In her mind. I met the new improved Laura- the only Laura there had EVER been- that night. All the taunts, childish abuse from her peers, never happened that night she met the handsome, GTO driving Ferrerman. She had the wonderfull, attentive boyfriend she had cried herself to sleep dreaming of, countless nights before. Life was new and good just as it had always been...

The horrible, emotional things she did to me- I now knew why. I quit taking them personally after that. It wasn't personal. She was purging herself. You can change your nose, your hair, boobs and face. Whatever. You cannot change your soul.  You can let your 'looks' change you....

I haven't seen her in close to thirty years. Perhaps she aged well, perhaps not. But, I have to believe, her soul is as ugly as the day she was 'born'.

I like to think not. I'm still a romantic at heart.

Monday, August 24, 2009

The War Against Introverts

A couple of seasons ago, FOXNEWS brought us the War On Christmas. The brilliant minds there got together and decided that, since some stores opted to wish "Happy Holidays" and "Seasons's Greetings" to customers instead of "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Birthday Jesus", Democrats hated Xmas.

Now we have Barak Obama's "War To Turn America Into Communist Russia Or China And Kill All Of Us That He Doesn't Just Enslave In FEMA 'Camps'". Or, what is also called, his "First Term".

Now we also have "Ferrerman's War Against Introverts".

None of these wars were or are actual wars like the world has come to know wars in the past couple of thousand years. Each are political and/or media driven slights of hand to deflect the public's attention from what is actually going on in the world and what the powers behind these wars actually want to accomplish. FOXNEWS seems to think that they will help America by working to destroy- at all costs- the presidency of Barak Obama. They are doing this for the good of America, to protect America and to make the White House safe again for Republican Presidents. Good luck with that you patriots you. Nothing says "I LOVE MY COUNTRY!" like those who want to destroy it for it's own good. Why, it's what the founders had in mind...

But, enough about the rise and fall of the Obama empire. Whatever happens with that, happens and America will go on. Unless FOX get's nuclear weapons...

There is no war against introverts. You might have heard that elsewhere. Ferrerman is not at war against introverts. Never has been, never will be. Ferrerman IS at war with ninnies and some dregs and some of these people do claim to be introverts but, unless you're a ninnie or a dreg, this should not cause you alarm. If you are shy or quiet, Ferrerman does not wish to mock or scorn you. Truth be told, Ferrerman is somewhat shy and quiet himself. Ferrerman has been mocked and scorned for being quiet himself and didn't care for that. Loud obnoxious people have generally been the one's to do this. Ferrerman does not enjoy the company of these types of people and chooses to avoid them.

Kinda sounds like Ferrerman is an introvert, doesn't it? No. Won't go that far. Can't go that far. I don't care for labels and I am, by nature, not a joiner. I can't blindly buy into any philosphy or join a fraternity or sorority that would demand that I do. I can't go along with the crowd. Nearly a year ago I was asked to join the "regulars", those that regularly post in the Amy/Abby threads and, at the time, in other threads they called their own. They liked my writing and my irreverent wit. I was new to the internet and Topix and I wondered how you could "join" a group on a public forum where anyone was free to post. I just didn't get that. I and thousands of others could post or not post as we chose. I was told I would receive protection from trolls. If trolls attacked, regs would come to defend me.

What? I can handle that by myself. I can either fight back or ignore and move on to another thread. It's the internet, not the streets of Chicago's west side. A gun forum or a stupid birther thread is nothing I can't handle myself. Truth be told, i've rarely had a "troll" follow me around. Recently one of the dregs has been trolling me but, that's different. It's not "trolling" when they do it. So I've been told...

I've come to realize that the "protection" that they offer is protection from them. They are no different from any gang in any city in the country in that they offer family where their might be none and protection whether it is necessary or not. The mean streets of reality can be rough. Kids join gangs that beat on them with the understanding that those beatings stop once they join and future beatings by others will be answered for,,,by the gang. You're either with us or against us because it's "us" against "them".

I'm the "them" here. I've seen dozens of posts in multiple threads where people- especially those who might be "introverts"- have been warned to fear me. Me personally as the who I am in real life and me as the "ex-ferrer" the "Ferrerman" and any of my known and unknown "troll names". People have even been told to fear those who WERE NOT me but had similar ISP's or irreverent wit. Ferrerman, Master of Disguise that he must be, could be anyone, anywhere at anytime. BE AFRAID! Especially be afraid if you are an INTROVERT. He eats innies for breakfast! Then he snacks on innnies while pondering what innies to have for dinner!

I am not against introverts. I have no magical internet powers. The ninnies do and one of them has used her magical power to troll my name and even a replica avatar to incite anti-ferrer sentiment among the great un-washed. She spent a weekend trolling my name and a few others to wage a war against her and the introverts. I didn't even have to show up. But, I did. At least long enough to show that it wasn't me posting under all those names. Watching terri that day was like watching "Fight Club". Very strange. Her friends all knew she was doing this. They approved. It wasn't Ferrer fighting with her but it "could" have been...

Folks, if you are shy and quiet and don't like loud parties- I hear ya. If you like imaginary bubble tea parties on the internet, I think you're silly. I respect your right to be silly though. I cannot and will not reach through the intertubes, rip off your head and poop down your neck for this. I am not your enemy. There is no war. I am not the boogieman.


See? I'm not scary. I just want to be left alone.

You'd think that introverts would understand that...

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Gimme five minutes

I am a combat ready painter. I can be dropped behind enemy lines with one or two good men and nothing but a brush and a PO number for Sherwin Williams and I will get the job done. Men who have been wise enough to know this have hired me to work for them. Others, who could not see this, did not last long with me.

Donnie Silver was one of those who could not see this. Donnie already had a crusty old combat veteran in his employ, Old Sam, and he did not acknowlege the genius and talent of Sam who was a legend in Memphis. Sam had worked for everyone as I seemingly had and it was odd that though we had worked for so many of the same people and knew the same painters, our paths had only briefly crossed once. My buddy Kip had introduced us a few years earlier.

"THIS" he said proudly, "is Sammy R!" Kip might as well have been introducing me to the Prince of Bulgaria. I didn't care. Neither did Sammy. Whatever he was doing at the time, he stuck his head up just long enough to say "hey" and went back to doing whatever he was doing.

Sammy hung vinyl for Donnie Silver. Donnie was the biggest vinyl hanger in Memphis and lest he or anyone else forget this fact, he would mention it six or twenty times a day. Silver was branching out into painting and he needed me to help Sam help him become the next biggest commercial painting contractor in Memphis. Part of the deal was, with me being well known in town, I needed to keep my employment on the QT since most of the companies I had worked for knew me and hired Silver to hang their vinyl. Donnie was plotting to take all their painting business away from them and he didn't want to tip his hand and endanger his vinyl hanging business.

The idea of being a top-secret, ninja painter appealed to me for about 3 seconds. The idea of a good paycheck appealed to me a lot longer. I agreed to keep the secret.

That evening, Kip and I were drinking beer on my back porch.

"I've got a new job" I said, "But, it's top secret and, if I told you, I'd have to kill you".

Kip didn't even look up from his Budweiser. He said "Okay".

So, I told him the details.

"You know he's a fucking idiot, don't ya?"

I knew that. I agreed. Kip told me that Donnie had asked him on a job once, while Kip was rolling a wall out, why painters didn't roll side to side. Why do they roll up and down?

This wasn't merely a stupid question. This was insanity. Anyone who has ever painted a wall knows you roll up and down. It is, how you do it. Nevermind there are reasons 'why'. To cut to the chase, rolling sideways is just plain stupid. Try it if you don't believe me. Do it all day. I hope you know a chiropractor and have deep pockets. Next you can check the level of gas in your tank with a cigarette lighter.

Donnie wanted to re-invent painting even though he never exactly said so. He told Sam how to do things. He told me how to do things. Sam had learned to be patient with him. I had not. Bosses in the past had tried to tell me the wrong way to do things and then been kind enough to go away and allow me to do the job right. Donnie intended to be more hands on. The first night I worked for him (Sam could not work nights because he liked to be drunk by supper) Donnie handed me a bag of 5minute quickset, a mudpan and a knife and a map of 20 offices on four floors that had pin-hole divots in them that needed to be filled. I told him that we needed spackle for this. He told me this was "faster". But, it's not, I protested. Humor me, he ordered.

I should have figured out that night that humoring him was what I had been hired to do. He was as serious about tilting at the windmills of commercial painting as Don Quixote but about as prepared for it as well. Five minute mud sets rock hard in five minutes, ergo, the catchy name. It's a powder that you mix with water until you get it just right and then you hurry your ass to use it before it sets up...inside of five minutes. I should have left the building that night and never looked back. The guy had just so complicated a simple task in his quest for speed. He was a nut. And, though it drove me nuts, I got the job done. Donnie was one of those "time is money" guy's that was always looking for a competitive edge to save money no matter what it cost him. I was one of those guys who just needed a paycheck.

I think I lasted two months with him. He continued to have insane "fast" ideas about things that took time to do no matter what. Most of them seemed to be about five-minute mud.

"If they sold one minute mud" Sammy said "Donnie would buy it".

He knew Donnie was an idiot. Sammy knew that quickset dries by a chemical reaction. He and I had both tried to explain this to Donnie but, what did we know? Though we both were experienced painters, neither Sammy nor I were the biggest vinyl hangers in Memphis. Who were we to talk? Donnie always wanted to put box fans blowing on his five minute mud to make it dry faster. Sigh. Until they invented one minute mud, that would have to do. Until then, quickset would not dry by chemical reaction but by fans.

So, I put up with Donnie's insanity because it was like a bad movie that I knew sucked but was still curious as to how it ended. The bad movie ended one night on a job at a bank. Donnie was his usual scatter-brained self. He had two more of his non-painting vinyl hangers on the job and both Bo and The Other Sam were longtime employees of his and thus, over me. Donnie couldn't make up his mind about what he wanted me to do. he had given me 3 different assignments inside of five minutes. You could watch mud dry in that time...

Bo had his ideas as well. Sammy was home passed out. The Other Sam was smoking a joint or slamming a forty. Maybe both. I got a little cranky.

"Hard to believe you've been divorced twice, Ferrerman!" Donnie snickered.

"I don't get along too well with bitches", I replied.

I thought we were gonna go at that. I kinda hoped we would. But that went right over Donnie's head. He was talking marriages and I was talking him. He finally lined everybody out and went off to see a play he did not care to see, with his wife. I'm sure he took the director aside and edumacated him on how to streamline his play. I'm sure he explained to the director that he was the biggest vinyl hanger in Memphis.

Later that even, Bo laid me off, as per Donnie's instructions. I was not unhappy about this. It was the price I needed to pay for not quitting that night two months earlier. I stayed for the end of the movie. I should have listened to the reviews and never walked into the theatre.

Last I heard of Donnie, he was back on crack and booze. His wife had kicked him out. I don't know if the crack or the divorce happened first but, it was all over for him. He had been a bad drunk and drug addict for years before getting straight and becoming the biggest vinyl hanger in Memphis and he's one of those people who are either/or when it comes to vices. Either he stops completely or he goes all out. My buddy, Tim, saw him at his company Xmas party. Donnie was pointed out to him by another painter. The crack diet had cost him some 80 pounds as well as his home and family.

"That's Donnie Silver!" the guy said. "He used to be the biggest vinyl hanger in town!"

This doesn't please me to know this, even now. I couldn't have helped the guy even if I had been there to try. Some people just won't listen. They get too big for their own damn good.

I need to get back into combat soon.

Friday, August 21, 2009


I've gotten a lot of comments lately in this venue about a few of my recent blogs. I use comment moderation for a variety of reasons. It's convenient and it gives me control over what is, well, MY blog. Plus it pisses off people like the girl who INSISTS that I publish her taunts even though half of those (there were six) included my actual name and the name of a friend of mine. As if these people cannot create enough trouble on their own, they DEMAND that I help them.

I don't mind criticism even if it's not constructive. Certain people are not going to like what I write regardless of what I write. That's life.

I see it as incongruous though that some people would like to condemn my censoring of their comments yet they opt to make these comments anonymously. I think these people are pussies for doing this. Although, having said that, a couple may not be gifted in the comment leaving process and actually not know how to sign in. I understand that. And, true, some people might choose to remain anonymous on this forum because they fear retribution from my enemies one of which went so far as to post on multiple threads that anyone posting on those Topix threads without an avatar was subject to hijacking of their screen name. Well, she warned them... And me too. My name was hijacked by a ninnie and my avatar was also hijacked by that same ninnie and, yes, they can do that again. In fact, on a new, young bloggers blog I noticed that (likely the same ninnie) posted to the young lady as "ex-ferrer". The kid took the bait. Welcome to the blog world, kid. Those are your friends. But, you already knew that...

Now, I read that blog and looked at others because I'm as vain as the next guy. Wait. Check that. Is the next guy that irrational fella? I could never be that vain. I could never write about doing my girl, in a public forum. I'd have more respect for her than that. Well, that's just me. And, I thought I might read interesting things about me. I did not.

Anyway, I noticed that some of these blogs were 'invitation only'. I have to suspect that some of my anonymous commenters also have these invitation only blogs. Hmmm. I'm called "cowardly" for not blindly allowing comments to my blog by people who post comments anonymously and may or may not have blogs of their own that are invitation only. Pot, meet silver chalice. Glass house, meet rock.

No one is expected to 'sign' their Christian name to these blogs. Screen names would suffice. There is a difference between those who choose to praise ferrerman but don't wish to incur the wrath of ninnies and dregs and those that are pussies. I understand and will protect the anonymity of those innocent people. I already have. Turns out, it's necessary.