People all over the world hit this one.

“Widely read article”

Do you know which of my articles in the last couple of years was the most widely read? No, I didn’t ask if you cared. And, yes, that was rude, Celia. You cut me deep. --Honk! I’m okay now.

Truth is, like most of you, I can’t remember what I wrote last week. Maybe like all of you. -- Whoa! True Grit! It just came to me.

But, forget True Grit. Well, try. While last week’s piece could conceivably end up being the most widely read, it certainly isn’t to date. No, the article that wins that distinction was one that appeared in The Villager on March 25, 2010. It was one of my Rooftop pieces.

If I had a copy of the old article, I’d tell you the title. All I know is the name I stuck on it when it appeared on the Rooftop Website. I called it “Happy Day.” I assure you The Boss gave it a better name before it went to press.

Anyway, Big Al set up our Rooftop Website, www.fromtherooftop.net, years ago. It has pictures and videos of some of the productions we’ve been involved with. And, it also has a place where you can view my past articles. Not future ones. Big Al’s working on that as we speak. If he’s successful, it’s gonna be so much easier for me to write stuff.

I generally stick a new article on our Website about a week after it appears in the newspaper. I do that in case you go on vacation and get a week behind. Not a weak behind. That’s something all together different.

Right now there are only two years worth of articles on the site. If you haven’t seen it, get your buns over there… just not now.

So, temporarily forget this shameless promotion. Let’s get to the article that people from all over the world looked at. I can’t be sure they read it, but I can assure you they clicked on it. – Uh, for the two of you who know less about the Internet than I do, “click on it” means that somebody Googled me or some item that appeared in the article and clicked their mouse on one of their findings. When they do that, the article gets what is called a hit.

Okay, Sarah and Mitch have that glazed-over look, so lets get past my poor explanation skills.

I will tell you that I can determine how many “hits” the site gets, and from what countries they come from. Fortunately, I can’t determine who hit me. I don’t want to know who hit me, nor do I want the people I hit to know that I hit ‘em. – Can we get past this?

First off, a few people in the U.S. of A. logged onto the “Happy Day” article. But, and it’s a big BUT, we also got hits from Britain, The Netherlands, Turkey, Australia, Estonia, China and a few other lesser-known areas. Did you know that there’s a Ukwhatistan? There must be a “Country-Naming for Idiots” publication.

But forget that. The question we all need answered is why has no one invented the chocolate covered Cheeto? But, more to the point, why would someone living overseas want to find one of my articles.

Well, I zipped over to the article and did some research. I found the article by zipping over to the Rooftop Website and clicking on “Mark’s Column” and then-- Oh, forget it. Sarah and Mitch are just coming out of their coma. No need to hit ‘em again.

Bottom line, I found the article and instantly noticed a couple of pictures that I had included with the piece. The first is of a cute, little red/orange-chested bird. I put the photo in, ‘cause the article had to do with a conversation I was having with you on the roof. A one-sided conversation.

I was talking about the different birds in the yard and mentioned how Kay has a knack for naming birds. If she doesn’t know the official name, she makes up something sappy like, “Little Sweet Birds” or “Peep Peep” birds.

In the article, I went on to say -- “I think that’s why God let a man name all the animals. ‘Blue-footed Booby.’ That’s a man’s name for a gull-like bird. Genius!” -- I then inserted a photo of a Booby. A Blue-Footed one.

And, that is where we find the attraction for the article. It had nothing to do with me or my article. No, people wanted to see the photo of The Booby.

The realization of this just disappointed the daylights out of me. And, it obviously upset a few of those who landed on the article. One person commented, “This is the stupidest ocker I ever read. This guy’s a real drongo dunny budge.” I’m pretty sure it was one of the Australians. I’m just glad he’s on the far side of the globe.

Yes, the comments really hurt, but I can see where people may have been just a bit disappointed in their search results. I would assure them that I did not intentionally entice them to the Website, but they’ll never know ‘cause they’ll never be back. I’m now an outcast in the Outback.

Unless… Okay, this may bring ‘em back. Bear with me here. – “Everyone on the planet is born in the nuddy.”

“Nuddy” is Australian for “starkers”, which is British for “gzbldak” which is Ukwhatistan for “naked.” If I knew the word for “naked” in all the other languages, the people might come back to see that my use of “Blue-Footed Booby” was not a trick to lure them in. Of course, the nuddy thing is intentional, but it’s for a good cause.

The big problem I now face has to do with what picture to include with this article when it appears on the Rooftop Website. What photo can I insert for “nuddy?”

Whatever it is will certainly disappoint. Hopefully, the Australian stinker isn’t a real dolly whopper, or he just might buy a plane ticket. Then I’ll really be in deep frazzle caddie. – Uh, someone wakeup Sarah and Mitch. Somebody? -- Next time.

To view Brad and Mark's latest restaurant review click on -- El Bosque's

Fill your fist, you son of a gun!

“Why a True Grit remake?”

I just got off the phone with my kid sister. We only talked for about 30 minutes, ‘cause I had to come up here to kick off our discussion. Y’all don’t wait well. I told Jill as much. She said she’d finish griping to me later. The girl has some issues.

One thing that was majorly upsetting her was “True Grit.” The new one. Kay and I saw it a week after it came out. I told Jill that it wasn’t nearly as good as the John Wayne version, but she still oughtta see it.

I told her that the dialog was pretty much the same, but the Coen Brothers version supposedly stuck closer to the book. I’d have to read the book to know if that’s true, and that’s not gonna happen.

The John Wayne “True Grit” was one of my favorite movies. You take Glen Campbell out of the thing and it’s one of the greatest Westerns ever made. Which begs the question: Why make another?

One would think it best to remake something that came out really bad. “The Beast of Yucca Flats” or “Plan 9 From Outer Space.” Those could only get better. But True Grit?

My Dad once told me, “Mark, I warned you not to stick that to your face. Now, you’re just gonna hafta go to church like that.” But, on another occasion he actually said something almost pertinent. He said, “Mark, try not to make good bad or bad worse.”

At the time, I wish he had given an example, ‘cause it just hung there. Later, I learned to appreciate his words. Haven’t been able to do a thing with ‘em, but I appreciate ‘em.

Had Dad been able to pass his sage advice on to the Coen brothers, I’m sure they would’ve still made “True Grit.” So, I don’t know why I even brought it up.

My over all view of the new Grit movie contains no malice towards anyone. Jill’s view, on the other hand, was ripe with that malice stuff. Jeff Bridges was a terrible Rooster. Delivered a deep snarl through the entire shoot. “I can’t help ya, son.” If Jill hears that fake Southern drawl one more time, she’s gonna punch something really hard. I’d steer clear of her till all the commercials are off the air.

“Well, Baby Sister, come see a fat old man.” The line wasn’t even in the new movie. And, Rooster didn’t jump his horse over a four rail fence. In fact the entire scene at the end of the original movie was replaced with something just a whole lot less satisfying. I’m sure it went hand in hand with the book, but who cares? Jill sure doesn’t.

And, Strother Martin? Nobody will ever be able to deliver a line like that guy. – “I will pay a total of two hundred dollars to your father's estate when I have in my hand a letter absolving me of all liability from the beginning of the world to date!”

In the remake, the actor playing Martin’s role did a fair job, but he certainly did not come close to matching Martin’s delivery. In fact, Jill doesn’t think any of the actors were an improvement over the original cast. Oh, except for Matt Damon. Damon didn’t erase the image of Glen Campbell from my mind, but did blur it a bit.

Granted, Campbell’s character, Ranger LaBoeuf, had some tough dialog -- “A little earlier I gave some thought to stealin' a kiss from you, although you are very young...” – but Damon managed to pull it off. I had to close my eyes during Campbell’s scenes. Don’t care to talk further about it.

I told Jill that the dialog for “True Grit” was supposed to be very close to the way people talked and wrote back then. I read/heard that back in the “olden” days, most people learned how to read from the King James Version of the Bible. So, they were naturally influenced by old English speech, as is evidence from some of the letters written during the period of the Old West. I don’t think Jill believed that any more than I did, but it sounds feasible as all get out.

Some of the toughest dialog in “True Grit” belonged to Mattie Ross. Jill thought that Kim Darby did a far superior job than Hailee Steinfeld, the younger Mattie. I don’t agree with that, but I didn’t tell Jill.

To bluntly sum up, I’d have to say that Jill believes that the newer Grit movie had poorer acting, more horrible and bleak scenery, and a stinking ending. Oh, and some of the best parts were left out.

During a lull in Jill’s venting, I asked how the popcorn was. The big reason I go to the movie is for the popcorn. If I could pop corn like the theatres, I’d watch all movies in my living room.

Jill said she didn’t get any popcorn this time, ‘cause she’s trying to cut down. Didn’t get any popcorn? “Never trust a review from a critic who didn’t get any popcorn.” My dad was a real sayer of sooths.

Of course, I saw the movie, and do agree with many of Jill’s assessments. Oh, and so does Dennis. My big brother called yesterday to ask me the name of the deputy in the old TV series “The Lawman.” The thoughts that capture Dennis have no parameters.

That bit of trivia sparked a discussion of other Westerns, which eventually brought us around to the topic of “True Grit.” Dennis didn’t like the remake one bit. And, get this, he not only got the large popcorn, but he got a refill. His review should definitely hold up.

So, if you haven’t seen the new “True Grit” you need to go, just so we can meet on the roof some day and compare notes. We’ll have to settle for microwave popcorn. Orville can call it “Movie Popcorn” all he wants, but it’s not even close… and yes, I know he’s dead.

I don’t know what slight of hand the theatre corn popping people perform, but I sure wish I did. Whatever they do has cost me a small fortune. – Oh and I almost forgot. The deputy was Peter Brown. Hey, I know my Westerns.

END

To see Mark and Brad’s restaurant review of Russo’s in The Woodlands, click here: Russo's

You can reach Mark at mark@fromtherooftop.net.

A little help?

“Okay, pick one”

HODGE PODGE LODGE – I need you all to take a seat in here… somewhere. Most of you will be sitting on the floor. I vacuumed it a couple of weeks back, so it’s more than sanitized. You could eat popcorn off that floor. Literally. There’s some over there in the corner. Well, it’s gone now. Harold is quick. Isn’t he quick?

Did you have any trouble finding this place? I’m sure you realize there are 915 Hodge Podge Lodges in the lower 48. This one just happens to be at my house. There is no listing in any directory that I’m aware of.

No, I just opened my HP Lodge about three minutes before I started the first paragraph up there. Somewhat ingenious, you ask me. Anyone asking? Anybody?

Well, here’s the deal. I’ve got several topics I’d like to discuss today. Somewhat of a hodge podge of stuff. Get it? Unfortunately, I can’t settle on any one topic. So, I decided to make use of your collective wisdom and let y’all pick the topic for me… for us.

No, I don’t care to explain it again. I’m just going to go ahead and describe the different ideas and let you choose the one you like the most… or hate the least. – Oh, and for a snack you’ll find a big bowl of peanuts over there by the—Yeah, I see you found it.

Okay, if everyone is lucid, here’s your first topic up for vote. “Supreme.” Do you know what that word means? A lot of people don’t. SUPREME refers to the best you can get. By definition it’s “the highest in degree or quality.” Unfortunately, the word has been messed with over the years.

I was at a popular Mexican Food restaurant today with my short-tempered friend Brad. I had looked over the multi-page menu for about ten minutes when the waiter came by for the third time to ask if we were ready to order.

I answered his question with a question. I hated to, but it needed done? I asked him the difference between a Supreme Tostado and an Ultra Tostado (a tostado being a flat crispy tortilla with meat and/or beans on top.) The waiter kindly pressed down hard on Brad’s shoulders to keep him from coming across the table and strangling me. The Bradford was ready to order.

Anyway, as Brad swore at me, the waiter explained that an Ultra Tostado has meat on it and a Supreme doesn’t… thus making the Ultra better than the Supreme. Better than the highest degree or quality.

That revelation made me curious as all get out as to what a “regular” tostado would be. Lettuce and cheese? SUPREME my foot! There oughtta be a menu law.

See? Now that’s a pretty good discussion topic, isn’t it? Well, don’t vote on it yet. Here’s another. “Exercise.” We all know we should, but only 18 people in Montgomery County actually do it. That said, let me ask you this. Do you think that “Boot Camp” is a good name for an exercise program? Do the two words, when placed together, entice you to pay money and drive miles, or do they scare the willies out of you? – “Somebody make me exercise? It’s genius!”

When dragged into an event kicking and screaming, you’re more likely to participate. It’s part of the Wo-Tang Principle first taught by Zhaka Zulu.

Unfortunately, there’s a big flaw in the concept. I just can’t see anybody making me show up for Boot Camp. Unless the camp is in my living room and the instructor has a key to the front door, it’s not happening.

I can go into depth about the Boot Camp if I have to. Might upset some drill sergeants, but I could go on. For now, though, let’s move on to another possible topic. “Meat smokers.” Last month, Big Al smoked a big ol’ pork roast for our Christmas meal. The meal was the best thing I got for Christmas. I did some serious clawing and biting for leftovers, too. I’m so glad Mom wasn’t around to witness what we’ve become.

So, ever since Christmas I’ve wanted a smoker. I don’t want one like Big Al’s, though. He’s got the giant metal monster with a wood box and chimney and all that. I don’t want anything big and heavy, unless it’s in a Hershey’s wrapper.

Big Al had to tend his smoker all day. I don’t have the wood or the discipline to do something like that. I’ve got just enough patience to apply direct flame. Burn it good. I’ve been known to char some pretty gnarly things and get away with it. But play with a rack of ribs for hours? The words “slow” and “cook,” when put together, become bad words, do they not?.

No, I want something that I can throw on a grill when I’m not even hungry, and then walk away and forget about. Eight hours later an alarm goes off and I say, “Whoa! The meat! I forgot all about it.” I go outside, fork a slab of something onto a platter and walk it into the house. That’s what I want.

They call something like that an electric smoker. A lot of people say that an electric smoker not only doesn’t give meat a smoky enough flavor, but it’s also only meant for sissies to use. Hey, I’ve read the reviews.

Anyway, I don’t want to get into all of that unless I’m forced. When you start talking about BBQ grills and smokers you can really stir the proverbial pot of nasty. So, I urge you not to vote on that topic.

The next topic is bicycles. Yesterday, Kay and I were in Academy. I’m over there looking at smokers and she grabs me by the belt loop and drags me over to the-- Yes? Oh my goodness. You’re right. Time. We have no more.

So, we… what? We vote? No, that’d be stupid, wouldn’t it. We’re out of space and time and peanuts. Speaking of which, I just wish you’d look at this floor. Kay is gonna raise a fit. And, do you think my vacuum will pick all of that up? Pathetic.

No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have tried such a bizarre experiment in topic selection. I’m not saying I’ll never do it again, but the next Hodge Podge Lodge activity will be held outdoors. This in-the-study thing is over as of now. Some of you guys can’t be trusted. – Harold, don’t you give me that look! I know a boot camp with your name on it, Li’l Mister.

END

To view Brad and Mark’s review of Schilleci’s New Orleans Kitchen click here: Pizza! You can reach Mark at mark@fromtherooftop.net

Gettin' swimmy headed here

“Last Step”

ROOFTOP -- On your way up here did any of you notice what was stamped on the top of the stepladder? I’ve owned the ladder since it’s infancy, and I never noticed. The message reads “Not a step.”

I had no idea. The top of a stepladder is not for stepping. It’s just a place for ending the ladder. The manufacturer adds the warning to cover its posterior. They know that everybody steps on the last step. It’s in the human genome. It’s right across from the section of DNA that tells you to lie when someone calls and asks if they woke you.

The thing about the ladder, though, is that when one of you steps on the top step, and you fall and shatter your fourth metatarsal, you won’t be able to sue because they warned you not to step there. And, you can’t sue me, ‘cause I made you all sign that waver. Remember? It’s on file somewhere.

But, forget that. Let’s get around to enjoying our beautiful, clear and breezy perch. The rooftop is the best, isn’t it? Do you think you’d be able to see that woodpecker over yonder if you were at ground level? No way! You’d hear it banging its head on the oak, but you couldn’t see it.

It really hurts me to watch a woodpecker at work. No way could I move my head back and forth like that without getting a migraine. I think it’s because of all the twirling around I did as a kid. You know, when we twirled around till we got so dizzy that we fell over? I used to do that a lot. Mom would say, “Mark, you’re 19 for goodness sakes! When are you gonna stop that?”

Speaking of which, you wanna know what’s odd? I’ll tell you what’s odd… coincidental, even. I’m getting just a little dizzy right now. It’s this cigar. And, yes that’s the reason I’m sitting downwind of you.

This is the first cigar I’ve smoked in about six months. Big Al gave it to me during the holidays. Practically forced it on me. Told me to smoke it New Years Eve. I might’ve done that, but I went to bed at 10:30. Al phoned at 12:10 to wish me a Happy New Year. I suppose. I don’t remember a great deal about the conversation. I do remember telling him I wasn’t asleep, though.

This certainly is an expensive cigar. That’s the only kind Al gets. If this thing is not a Cuban it’s pretty close to being one. Al knows his smokes. He’s even got a humidor. I’m not kidding. Not only am I not kidding, but I’m not feeling all that well, either. I think I’ll save the rest of this cigar for next year. Maybe stick it in the freezer.

Don’t tell Big Al about this. He already thinks I’m a sissy. I don’t take a punch well, I get headaches when my head bobs around, and I can’t smoke a cigar without getting sick. Not only that, but I don’t like action movies all that much anymore. I’m beginning to scare myself.

Yesterday, I took Kay to see “The King’s Speech.” I’m probably the third nicest husband in the world. The movie is about a British King trying to overcome stuttering so he can talk to “his people” without coming across as a rube. I went for the popcorn.

Turns out I thoroughly enjoyed the movie. I didn’t cry or anything, but I sure got anxious a time or two. The movie was so much better than Stalone’s “The Expendables.” That’s another thing not to tell Big Al.

Uh, Lucy, what are you staring at in the front yard? Are you going to make me turn to see it? Okay. – Oh, that’s the spot where we had our tomato garden. It’s now just a mowed over weed patch. I had hoped it would be our last garden. Not so.

This morning Kay went to town to get some seeds and some tiny growing pots. She told me that instead of buying plants this spring, she’s going to start growing her own. We’re having bell peppers and straight-necked squash.

I asked her what the difference was between crook-necked squash and straight-necked. If I had been just a little slower, her pinch would’ve caught me in a really bad place.

Kay did tell me that straight-necked squash is easier to pollinate than crook-necked, because the crook can hinder the pollen from getting where it needs to be. Sometimes I don’t know if she’s making stuff up or really knows what she’s talking about. After the near miss on the pinch, I acted like she was a gardening genius.

So, if any of you spot a good place for me to stick our next garden, speak up. The last site needs to lay fallow for a couple of years until the saint augustine reclaims it. Then Kay will have me dig it up again, so she can plant radishes and chickpeas.

All of this is making me think I need to have a long talk with Big Al. He’s nowhere near the nicest husband in the world, yet he’s happy as a woodpecker on hard bark.

Speaking of which, just look at that bird. It’s still beating the daylights out of that tree. My head hurts just watching it. Whop, whop, whop! Okay, now I’m getting swimmy headed.

Right, maybe we should climb down. I’ll be last. Maybe I’ll start to feeling better. Oh, and be sure not to step on the top step of the ladder. And, yes I’m just saying that for the couple of you who didn’t sign the waver. Hey, I’ll get you to sign… next time.

END

To watch Mark and Brad’s latest restaurant review go to YouTube click on: BBQ Cafe

Neck shrinking process

Too much neck

I don’t know about you, but I ate way too much during the holidays… and I was lying about not knowing about you. I know what you ate. We should be ashamed.

You more than me, ‘cause I’m getting ready to do something revolutionary. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Perhaps because I wasn’t shocked enough. Some of our more brilliant ideas come from a drastic jolt. Did you know that?

Take the steel-toed boot. People were getting their toes smashed right and left. Abstinence from dropping stuff didn’t seem to help. Sometimes you just have to drop something. Nobody could figure it out what to do. Profanity was getting way out of hand. Fortunately, a real smart person (Marvin Chafeton 1932) dropped something on his toe. A five-gallon bucket of paint. Mojave Grey.

After a brief screaming and cursing spell, Chafeton dissected a section of three and half-inch steel pipe and inserted it into the toe of his boot. His name is now synonymous with things that rub. (I think I read that on Wikipedia.)

The jolt that shocked me into my eating revolution had nothing to do with my toes. It was my neck. For decades I’ve been able to sit-down and watch TV without ever thinking about my neck. Nor my earlobes for that matter.

Then over the holidays, I was sitting in the ol’ recliner watching the history of spackle when I felt something right below my chin. What on earth? I raised my head just a bit and it was gone. Had me goin’ there for a minute.

Next thing I know it was back. Whoa! I put the program on pause and went to find Kay. She said she didn’t see anything weird below my chin. She was right, because it was gone again. So, I went straight to the restroom. The second thing I did was look in the mirror. What I saw shocked me.

My neck! What on earth had happened to my neck? It looked layered. It looked like so many other necks that I had made fun of. Somewhere in the distance of my cranials I could hear the faint singing of the “Ninny ninny noo noo” song. And, like me, the singers only knew the first verse.

I had become one of them. You know… them? Maybe one or two of you. Nothing personal, mind you. It’s just that… well, it’s not how I wanted my neck to look. If you care to see my neck, don’t look at my picture up there. All you can see there is my nose. The Newspaper photo boss is into accenting one’s most unpleasant feature. If I had a newer picture taken, they’d hone in on my neck. Look at that bubba. Just makes me sick.

The good news is, in a month or two neither of us will notice my neck. That’s ‘cause it’s gonna shrink big time. It’ll have a single layer. Like a Lorna Doone. I like Lorna Doones.

The awareness of my inflated neck inspired me to try a revolutionary approach to neck-thinning. I mentioned that way up there. In fact, I am currently involved in the process at this very moment. I waited till after the Holidays to immerse myself in this foolproof method of weight loss.

Here it is. Are you ready? I’m not going to eat again until I get down to my perfect weight. I don’t know what weight the perfect weight is, but I’ll know it when I can’t feel my neck while watching TV.

A lot of you probably think this method a bit drastic. Well, d’uh! You’ve gotta break some eggs, people. The good thing about this diet is that it only lasts a month, maybe two. I went without a nap once for a month and a half.

Obviously, I don’t thing you should jump into the two-month fast without some preparation. And, I know mean consult with your doctor. Doctors pooh pooh everything. No, what you need to do first is eat up all the snacks in the house.

I started with the cashews. Santa brought me some. I don’t know how he keeps up with stuff. For most of my life I thought it impossible to improve on the cashew. So, what does Santa do? He sends me some honey-roasted cashews. They’re… well, they’re gone. They had a sugary, salty mixture that coated the flavorful wonder that is cashew.

After that, I downed a can of popcorn that Jill got me. One of those big tin buckets. I finished off all except the caramel part of it. Caramel-bucket popcorn is not to be confused with Cracker Jacks. If it could be confused, I would’ve finished off the entire bucket.
Then I killed off the leftover Marie Callender’s Razzleberry Pie. Next to the chocolate peanut butter pie at Pie in the Sky, Razzleberry is the best pie in the world. I’ve got another Raz in the freezer to celebrate when I lose my neck.

What else? I can’t remember. I just ate every snack thing there was in the house, so I wouldn’t be tempted during my massive fast. I’m on Hour Four. Did I mention that? Four hours and six minutes.

I’m beginning to get a little swimmy-headed. Swimmy-headed is good. Each swimmy-headed experience is a sign that you’ve lost another pound. I found that fact on the Internet same place I found the history of the steel-toed boot.

I figure at this rate, I’ll be back to eating in about six weeks. Ten tops. You may not recognize the change ‘cause I doubt it will in any way affect my nose. That’s about all you can see in the photo.

Which reminds me of Tombstone. (Whoa! Where’s he goin’?) I’ve had about a dozen people -- maybe a billion -- ask to see the Hayter Brothers’ Tombstone picture that Brad did for me. It was mentioned in the last article? Anyway, I’m going to go ahead and stick it on the Rooftop webpage, ‘cause my boss is probably mad at me for griping about extremely tight photos. To see the Hayter brothers at the OK Corral go to www.fromtherooftop.net and click on “Mark’s column.” It should be there by the time you read this. – Next time… I’ll be the one that’s really swimmy-headed.

END

To see Brad and Mark’s video restaurant review of BJ’s. Click here: BJ's

Tombstone picture

“The Slow Motion Walk”

In which camp do you find yourself? Are you one of the ones who are glad that Christmas is over, or do you feel just a bit sad that it’s past?

I have never found myself in the former camp. That’s the one I mentioned first. I have to think a bit before I can distinguish between “latter” and “former.” It’s the same way with “stratosphere” and “mesosphere.” I can’t remember which is furthest. Or farthest. I also get those two confused. Farthest? That doesn’t sound right. Can we get past this?

Some of you may be sad about Christmas because you got lousy stuff. Hey, I feel your pain. I’ve experienced your pain. Can’t say that for my brothers. They loved what I got ‘em. They don’t appreciate all the trouble I went through to create their gift, though. About wore me out.

Let me tell you what I came up with. I know you’re eager to know. I got this great idea to find a photo from the movie “Tombstone” -- the picture of the Earp brothers and Doc Holiday walking toward the OK Corral -- and superimposing the faces of my brothers and me over the characters. Is that not cool?

I’m sure you realize that I was once in a movie where I walked in slow motion with Big Al and some others on our way to a showdown. You remember that, don’t you? “Asylum of the Scorpion” one of the Walker-Cable productions? Al and I were walking in slow motion with a bunch of other residents of an insane asylum. We were armed with garden implements on our way to a showdown with an armed gang of outlaws. As cool as that sounds, it was not nearly as epic as the scene in “Tombstone.”

That’s what I was after, the coveted Doc Holiday, Virgil Earp, Wyatt Earp and Morgan Earp photo. Only with Larry, Dennis, Al and me. Of course two of you are thinking that changing faces on a movie photo is illegal. That’s just silly thinking. As long as you don’t make money off of the photo tampering, it’s somewhat legal. Bound to be.

The major problem with the Tombstone project had to do with doing it. I can’t do superimposing stuff and cutting and pasting and all of that computer artwork. But, I know somebody who can.

Do you know Brad Meyer? He’s the county restaurant review guy that I hang around with occasionally. Mostly for meals. Y’all know him? The man is techno-literate. That’s why I asked him to do the Tombstone picture. He stumbled at the chance.

Brad told me to find the appropriate pictures of the brothers, figure out whose head I wanted on which Earp, and he would take it from there. Turns out I had the more difficult job. Do you know how many decent photos I have of Dennis and Larry without their glasses on? Those goobers were born with glasses. They’ve worn glasses longer than Clark Kent.

I found two pictures that I thought would do. Unfortunately, Brad told me that the heads weren’t positioned right. Your body can’t be heading straight while your head is leaning hard to the left. You’d look like Tim Roth.

Larry’s facial position best fit Virgil Earp, so that’s where Brad put him. Al’s head fit the Wyatt’s walk, so my kid brother got the coveted Kurt Russell role. Dennis ended up being on the far right. That made him Morgan Earp. Me? My head didn’t fit any of ‘em. Of course, Brad had to make me Doc Holliday ‘cause he was the only one left. There were only four guys walking, and he couldn’t just add a fifth figure to match my head. I even asked him. Made him say a bad word, I did.

So I ended up being a tough fit. Brad swapped out 10 photos of me before finding the one that looked decent. They all looked decent to him, but that’s ‘cause he wanted out of the project. -- “Look, Nimrod, I’m not doing this again. You can take it or leave it!” – He said that about eight times. Said it mean, too.

It was just too hard for my face to act like I had a Doc Holiday body. The picture of me that he finally used was one taken about 25 years ago. He had to do the same thing for Dennis and Larry. He used older pictures with younger faces. Kind of like “latter and former.” Turns out Big Al, the youngest brother, ended up looking the oldest. Since he got to be Wyatt, he didn’t mind so much.

Yep, the brothers really liked what I got ‘em. Jill? Not so much. Susan? She lives in Washington. I have no idea what to get a Washatonian. Kay? She might as well live in Washington. Bottom line, I have trouble with women. Can’t buy good gifts for ‘em, either.

So, the girls ended up in the happy-Christmas-is-over camp. Oh, and Brad did too. He was in no way happy before Christmas. And, after Christmas? Well, I’m supposed to stay away from him for a couple of weeks into the New Year. Says he needs “No Mark” time. Hey, I feel his pain.

END

You can view Brad and Mark’s restaurant review of Little Tokyo Restaurant by clicking below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQX0c4ZHv00

Christmas Short Story

It’s Christmas short story time. This one I call “Christmas at the Tastee Freeze”

People weren’t exactly beating the door down to get into Frank’s Tastee Freeze. The entire lunch crowd consisted of the Pomeroy family and Arnold Bounder. The Pomeroys were going to Jack’s sister’s house in Maypole for supper, and Jack thought they’d get some burgers for lunch before heading out.

Four combo meals. One foot long chilidog, two Big Frank burgers and four tacos. Not much of a Christmas fare, but the four Pomeroys seemed pleased. So pleased that both Pomeroy girls squeezed the bicycle horn before leaving. The horn was mounted near the door just below a sign that read, “Honk if you enjoyed your Tastee Freeze experience.”

At the sound of the horn, Ray yelled an enthusiastic, “Yeehah! Y’all come back!”

“Would you pleeeease not do that today?” Kate said. “The Boss is not even here.”

“Do you think I enjoy acting like an idiot? Look, Frank told us to yell when we hear the horn. I don’t ask why. I just do what the boss says. Wouldn’t hurt you to do it now and again.”

“No, your ‘Yeehaw’ can stand on its own.” Kate said.

Ray gave her his raised eyebrow look, and then imitated a detective he once saw in an old black and white movie. “Why, I oughtta pounnnnd you!”

Kate couldn’t hold back the laugh. She never could with Ray. Just didn’t understand why that was. “Look Dilbert,” she said, “One more time, tell me why you let The Boss pressure you into working on Christmas?”

Ray ignored the comment and walked over to the booth where Arnold was staring into his coffee cup. Ray plopped himself down in the seat across from Arnold and looked hard at the guy. “Look, Mr. Bounder. Mr. Bounder, look at me. Please. Here’s what do. Let us get you one of the Santa ice cream cakes from the freezer, you take it home to Mrs. Bounder and the kids and you tell ‘em you’re sorry. That you just had one of those sinking spells, but now you’re all better.”

Mr. Bounder slowly looked up from his coffee cup and gave Ray a smirk. “Ray, you’re a swell kid, but you have no idea.”

“No, idea? Have you ever tasted a Santa ice cream cake? It’s… well it’s gonna change your life. Once you take a bite of that cake you can do nothing but smile. I’m not lying. It’s a group hug magnet! And, best of all, it’s 50 percent off”

Ray yelled across the room. “Kate, grab the Santa cake and ring up $8! No, make it five!” He turned back to Mr. Bounder. “I’m pretty sure Frank plans to let it go for five tomorrow.”

Arnold Bounder climbed out of the booth, handed Ray $5 and then hugged him. “You are absolutely nuts, Raymond. Merry Christmas.”

Kate ran up with the cake. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Bounder. Remember, you’re not alone. Things will get better. Starting with the cake. The beard and the white part of Santa’s hat are vanilla. Everything else is chocolate.”

Ray added, “And if there is any leftover, you know where I live.” Ray walked back to the counter with Kate following close. “So, why did you agree to work today? What could possibly--”

Mr. Bounder grabbed hold of the bicycle horn. “Honk! Honk!” – Ray let out with “Yeehaw! Y’all come back!” Arnold waved as the door closed behind him.

There was the briefest of pauses before Kate gave Ray a slap to the shoulder. “Would you please not do that? Now look, answer my question.”

Ray tossed his dishrag across the counter where it landed in the sink. He gave the universal two-fingers-down sign for two points. He then opened the register and put in the $5 and added 15 of his own.

Why did he volunteer to work on Christmas? Truth is, he told Frank that he’d work, but only if Frank could persuade Kate to help out. He saw it as an opportunity to be alone with the one girl whose company he most enjoyed. A girl who would never see him as more than a hometown friend. At least he could make a memory of the one Christmas they both shared.

Ray was not aware if Frank had grasped the implication of his request, and, for once, he didn’t care. It was indeed a step toward boldness. It was boldness born of desperation. He knew he would soon be headed for Angelo State to start the Spring Semester. He had just finished his Sophomore year at the community college in Childress, and he had only raised enough money for the Spring Semester at San Angelo. He’d figure out the rest later.

“Look, Katy-did, I’ve got no life. I live with my parents, who are, incidentally, at this moment headed to Vernon to visit Aunt Mary in the home. I love my aunt, but can’t take the home. Working Christmas gave me an excuse to miss out this year.”

Suddenly the door of a ’92 gray Buick slammed outside. Slammed twice. A nanosecond after the slams, two boys, eight and six, rushed in and headed straight for the restrooms in the back. The Mom caught the door and meekly smiled as she entered. “Do you know how hard it is to find a restroom on Christmas Day?” she said. “I think you may be it between here and Dallas.”

“You’re just about right,” Ray said. “Can I get you anything?” The lady shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just the restroom.” She sat down at the table nearest the restroom to wait.

Ray wrestled with the notion of pressing just a little. “So, you’ve got family in Dallas? That place is booming.”

She smiled and said, “Uh, no. We’re headed to Longview. I’ve got a brother there who is going to let us stay, till… uh, till things get sorted. I would’ve left earlier, but I had to work last night at the mall in Abilene. Wasn’t that much business on Christmas Eve, but it was good to get the work.”

About that time, the two boys rushed out of the bathroom. “Mommy can we get something?” The mom got up and told them to sit and wait for her while she went to the restroom. “Don’t move. And, don’t bother anyone.”

As soon as she left, the boys obediently sat and stared at the ice in the field beyond the parking lot. Ray yelled over to them. “Hey, do you guys mind giving us a hand back here?” Ray and Kate were standing behind the counter waving them on. The two kids exchanged glances and then ran to help.

Minutes later, Mom exited the restroom to see her boys sitting on the counter trying to fill a napkin holder. Kate was giving instructions while Ray was making the burgers. “I am so sorry,” Mom said. “Come on Thad and Will. We’ve gotta go, kids.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Ray said. “I’m afraid the boys already placed an order. Not to worry, they’re working it off right now.”

The mom found herself somewhere between humiliation and extreme gratefulness. It’s a thin line, sometimes. Kate sensed the dilemma, and handed her towel to Ray. “Finish up, Big Guy,” she said. She led Mom to a booth and the two sat and chatted.

It was a good visit. Ray moved two tables together and they all sat and ate burgers, onion rings and fries. And, washed it all down with malts and Cokes. Ray and Kate weren’t really all that hungry, but Ray thought the moment would be less awkward for Deanna, the mom, if they all shared a meal.

Before leaving, Ray lifted Thad and Will up and let them each honk the horn. They all had to say, “Yeehaw! Y’all come back!” after each honking. Even Kate joined in. She never looked lovelier to Ray.

As the Buick headed Dallasward, Ray walked over to the cash register, rang up the tab and paid for the meal. Kate, walked over and shook her head. “You’re a real wonder, Ray Palmer. You know that? And, how much did you slip into Deanna’s purse?”

“Hey, my folks and I agreed not to exchange gifts. So, I had to do something. But forget that. Now, it’s your turn to tell me why you decided to work on Christmas."

“Oh, that’s easy,” Kate said. “I’m saving for college. Dad said he’d match whatever I can raise. Oh, and I knew he was paying double time, so I jumped at the chance.”

“You’re kidding.” Ray said. “He sure didn’t make that deal with me.” Kate shot back, “He did too. He told me we were both getting double.” Ray smiled. Yeah, Frank had him figured out.

“I’m going to Angelo State next fall,” Kate continued. “You know, I might even get a scholarship.”

“I’m sure you will. Every volleyball coach is looking for a good setter. I’ve noticed that you’re pretty good. And, I must say, you look strangely attractive in your volleyball outfit.”

“Strangely attractive? What do you mean by that?”

Too bold. He was headed for Rejection City. Probably be elected mayor. So, he ignored the question. “Look, kid. I doubt we get many more customers. Why don’t you head over to your boyfriend’s house? I’ll fill out the time-sheet for you. I doubt your Dad will fire either one of us for it.”

“My boyfriend? You mean Cory?” Her laugh came out as more of a snort. “Really? You don’t need me here?”

Ray tried to sound persuasive. “Look at this place. We’re a restroom with a kitchen.” Kate nodded, walked behind the counter to get her purse, gave Ray a quick peck on the cheek and then headed for the door. “Merry Christmas Raymond Palmer.” She squeezed on the horn before leaving. There was no response from Ray, so she turned and gave him a questioning look.

Ray smiled and quietly said, “Yeehaw. You come back.” Kate shook her head and then got into her Dad’s old pickup and drove off.

Ray walked over to the booth nearest the counter and plopped himself down. He rested his legs across the bench seat and leaned his back against the wall. Looking out the window across the room, he sat and stared… at nothing in particular. He wasn’t in his trance long before the sound of the opening door startled him out of his deep think. He looked up to see an exasperated-looking, Kate.

The girl walked briskly to the counter and tossed her purse behind it. She then picked up her apron and strapped it on. With her hands on her hips and her weight shifted slightly to the right, she said, “Okay, Mr. Palmer. Tell me exactly what you meant by ‘strangely attractive?’”

There were no more customers at Frank’s Tastee Freeze for the remainder of the shift. Oh, Emily Bounder did bring over a deep plate of ice cream Santa cake for them. It was delivered with a hug. “It’s the bestest cake we ever had,” she said. Then added, “Oh, and the hug was from Mommy.”

Kate and Ray sat across from one another in the booth and just talked. They took only a couple of bites of the cake, sharing the same spoon. At one point, Kate, pushed the bowl to the side and reached over and took hold of Ray’s hand. Ray was pretty sure his heart might explode. The conversation never lagged. And, the time sped by like a meteor. But, then, that’s to be expected when two people share the best Christmas ever.

Merry Christmas to you and your family, from the Hayters.

END
You can contact Mark at mark@fromtherooftop.net