Pet Parade this Tues. Apr 17

“Pet Parade”

    Okay, I need you to go get your calendar. Do it quick, or I might forget what I sent you for. Oh, and a pen. Get a pen!

    Uh, no, that’s a 2010 calendar, but we’re not waiting. First off, a qualifier. -- I don’t generally promote stuff. You know that. Just doesn’t seem prudent, proper or lucrative. Unless I’m directly involved or paid up front, I don’t promote.

 I refuse to make an announcement about your wedding, graduation, invention, business venture, parole… whatever. You didn’t hear it from me. I’ve got some standards, and they’re up there. Way up there. A little lower than eye-level. 

Having said that – You simply can’t miss the cutest event in the history of eventdom. It happens at about 6 p.m. on April 17 at the Montgomery Country Fairgrounds. It’s in one of the big metal buildings on the north side.

So, write the time and place in the appropriate square on your calendar and then write in “Pet Parade!” Include the exclamation point. Hey, I don’t own a pet, don’t want a pet, seldom pet pets, but I’ll be there. In fact, I’m going to emcee the thing.

Not only that, but Kay will be there! Kay has a degree from the Caesar Milan School of Psst! She’s good. I’m in the process of persuading her to join me on stage. I told her somebody might bring a penguin. Kay loves penguins. If you were to bring a penguin – or a reasonable facsimile – I’m fairly certain it would win in “The Miscellaneous Pet Division.”

I’m fairly sure of that because my kid brother, Big Al, is one of the judges. I couldn’t sway his vote, but Kay can. He likes Kay.

By the way, when you show up at the event be sure to hug Lisa Hightower and her noble assistant Lesa West. They’ll be the ones working their buns off getting everything to run smoothly. And, apologizing for me. There would be no Pet Parade without Lisa and Lesa.

And, what do they get for their effort? Must be warm fuzzies, ‘cause there is no money involved. It doesn’t cost a thing to enter a pet. Just show up at 5:00 and sign up. There are three categories. Small Dog, Big Dog, and Miscellaneous. Miscellaneous can be a fish, turtle, rabbit… maybe even a cat. A kitten would be better. 

Of course, nothing I’ve said so far fully describes the “cute” aspect of the event. What makes the Pet Parade so fun is the fact that you have to be eight years old or younger to register a pet. And, in order to finish at or near the top, it would be to the child’s advantage to be in costume. Don’t have to be, but it’s so neat if they are.

For example, last year there was a Dorothy with a Toto type dog. Rottweiler I think.  Also there was a Miss Muffet with a dog made up to look like a big spider. For a minute I thought it belonged in the Miscellaneous Pet category. I couldn’t tell the real legs from the fake ones. – I forgot to tell you. I emceed the event last year. And, they asked me back! That seldom happens.

Oh, and this is very important. Each dog must have proof of rabies vaccine, and any horse must be accompanied by proof of “Negative Coggins.” If you have no idea what that means, you’re like me and don’t own a horse.

One other thing. Please note that this is not a professional, certified, worth-suing-over Pet Show. It’s just a fun time. Each child will be asked to escort his or her pet across the stage (with parental assistance as needed.) I will attempt to get the kids to talk about their pets. Give them a chance to impress the judges. The children are a big part of what the judges are observing. Give Big Al a wink and you’ll score some serious points.

If your child needs to pad his resume, borrow the neighbor’s goat and enter the thing. If you’re childless but have a duck that needs some attention, borrow the neighbor’s kid and sign ‘em both up.

Okay, you’ve got a week or so to give this some thought. Pet or no, be sure to show up and enjoy the spectacle that is “Pet Parade.” Oh, and be on the lookout for a penguin. You won’t have to dress it or your child up to win. The thing will be a shoo-in.

END

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You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

twilight roofsit

“Venus, Jupiter and Kay”

    ROOFTOP – I need everyone to settle down. I know there are mosquitoes out tonight… which I believe is a song by either Reba or Dolly. But, if you’re gonna witness tonight’s spectacle, you’ll need to pay attention. I said if—Okay, that’s better.

    Kay’s already been out to see it. She refuses to climb to the roof, so she walked to the road and looked west into the night sky. No, the other west. See?

    No, it’s not the moon. Although it is neat looking. Look just down and to the right of the moon. See! Isn’t that something. The top light is Venus and then down a ways is Jupiter. I understand they were much closer to one another on March 15… the Ides. You won’t get to see this again till May of next year.

    Okay, everyone do an about face and look into the Eastern sky. That dot up there is Mars. Notice the red tint. Is that not cool? Tonight, the three brightest non-lunar dots in the sky are planets.

    A few of you seem as impressed as Kay. Before going into the house, she said, concerning Venus and Jupiter, “I thought they would be closer.” I told her about the Ides of March, but she didn’t seem to care.

    That girl is a doodle. Before we get carried away by mosquitoes, I’m gonna use this night and this time to tell you two recent Kay stories. It’ll do so much to help you understand the girl. Doesn’t do much for me, but maybe for you.

    Last night before bedtime, I kicked my houseshoes off in the study. I don’t sleep in the study, but it’s where I kick off my houseshoes. If you have to bend over to take off your houseshoes, you bought the wrong kind. The first shoe flew across the room, hit a box of folders, and landed vertically, toes to the ground, leaning against the box..

    That alone was bizarre, and was duly noted as such. Then I kicked my left shoe off, and it flew across the room, hit the box and landed toe-side down right next to the other one. They were touching, even!

    What do you do when something like that happens? I yelled for Kay. She came running out of the bedroom apparently looking to see a chest of gold doubloons. I pointed to the houseshoes and said, “I kicked ‘em off from here, and that’s where they landed.”

    Kay had no expression. She said, “For some reason I was expecting something different.” Of course, she was expecting something different! Few people could even imagine witnessing such a marvel.

Then Kay left. Not me. Just left the room. It was as spectacular as sinking two consecutive shots from mid-court, yet it failed to impress her. Talk about a tough audience.

    Yesterday morning I was sitting on the carport while Kay cut my hair. All six of ‘em. Kay was pointing out the different bird calls, when a woodpecker lit a few limbs up on the old oak. The thing was toying with a two-foot string, trying to make Jacob’s ladder. Which is not easy if you’re using just your nose.

Kay suggested that it was using the string to build a nest. Then she used one of her smart words on me. She’s been doing that more and more. – Beg your pardon? Right, it’s not easy to find a word that stumps me. Was that sarcasm?

  Kay said, “I need to put out some of my raffia so the birds can use it to build their nests.”

    Raffia. Put out her raffia. I let it set there for about eight seconds before asking. For the men, “raffia” is thin, ribbon-like straw. Kay bought some for when I dressed up like the Mayan priest for a calendar skit Brad and I put on. Only, when Kay was applying the stuff she didn’t refer to it as “raffia.” She sprang that on me during my haircut.       

Raffia

It was an apparent attempt to remind who the brains of the outfit is. And, I didn’t argue with her because she had scissors in her hand.

And that concludes tonight’s roofsit. You got to witness an astronomical spectacle and hear two fascinating stories from the life and times of Mark and Kay. And, what did it cost you? – Right. I’ll see if we’ve got some mosquito bite cream downstairs. Kay will know the actual name of the stuff. She’s a doodle.

END
  
You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com

What? Run outta movie ideas?

“TV to Movies”

    Kay was right. Yesterday she told me they were making a movie about The Lone Ranger. I seldom doubt Kay, but of all the Westerns to choose from… The Lone Ranger?

Why on earth would they do that? Are there no more decent stories out there, that they’ve got to dig down in the well of the Been Done? Our generation is the only one that has even heard of The Lone Ranger, and
Hollywood never makes a movie aimed at us.

How many of you over 30 have ever heard of “Hunger Games?” Supposed to be a buster of blocks, yet, it was as foreign to me as Tibetan poetry until I saw the trailer last week. I’m not considered any film producer’s audience.

 That’s what I told Kay. In so many words. When I finished, she said, “Guess who’s gonna play Tonto?” – “Al Pacino?” I didn’t care. --“Johnny Depp,” she said.

Hokey smoke, Bullwinkle! I ran to the computer and googled Depp. Sure enough, there was a photo of him as Tonto sitting on a pinto…or sawhorse. I could only see him from the waist up, but you could tell he was straddling something.  His face was all painted and he had a stuffed crow sitting atop his head.

Something tells me Depp will do a great job… as long as he doesn’t try his Jack Sparrow voice again. He needed to bury that thing after “ Pirates I.” Too much of a cute thing. 

The Native American lobby will have a fit over Depp playing Tonto, and rightly so. They better have at least given Wes Studi a shot at the role. Regardless, Johnny Depp! He could play almost anybody. Gabby Hayes, even.

Still, one has to ask why movie producers feel the need to revisit old TV series. Particularly the less interesting ones. Car 54, Dukes of Hazzard, George of the Jungle, McHale’s Navy… Oh, and “The Lone Ranger.” The guy never shot to kill. He just nicked the occasional arm or leg. Mostly he shot the gun out of the bad guys’ hands. Not exactly “Wild Bunch” stuff.

Westerns that should’ve been considered for movies are

This is the character ripe for a movie. 

Have Gun Will Travel, Johnny Yuma, Yancy Derringer, Sugarfoot… Uh, scratch Sugarfoot. The others deserve a place on the big screen. 

I read I read years ago that “H G W T” was in the planning stage and that John Travolta was going to play Paladin. Nothing more was ever said. It’s like one of the three dozen cures for cancer that appear on the news, but are never heard of again. I really hate that.

There are a few current TV series that I would consider movie worthy. “Castle” is not one of ‘em. That is among the poorest written series out, and Kay and I watch it every week. We like Nathan Fillion. Did you ever see the “Firefly” sci-fi series he was in? I consider it among the best ever. Probably why it got cancelled.

If you ever watch Castle, I wish you’d notice how Castle and Becket no sooner mention a problem in an investigation than one of the other two detective guys walks up with information related to it. Oh, and notice how the four main characters will be in a room and each take turns continuing the other person’s train of thought.

Beckett: “He ran away from home at the age of 12”
Castle: “Robbed a bank in Cloverdale in ‘98.
Detective #1: “Did a dime at the Fishkill Unit.”
Detective #2: “Was spotted in town yesterday, so he could be our perp.”

    I’m assuming  screenwriters believe it’s easier for actors to remember lines if they know to talk right after the person on their left. Stuff like that kills brain cells. There was a study done of that at Panola College. At least there should’ve been.

I guess that means 20 years from now they’ll make a movie of “Castle.” Johnny Depp will probably play Kate Beckett. He’ll use his Jack Sparrow voice. 

END

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The Big Wal-Mart

This is a Henke's in Houston years before I was born. The one in Pasadena had a giant book-looking thing on the roof. Does anyone remember?

“Jill’s visit”
    When I was a kid, the two major grocery stores nearest to our house were Weingarten’s and Henke & Pillot, which we pronounced “Hinky and Pea-lot.”

I don’t know if that’s the correct pronunciation, but it’s the only one I ever heard.  If anyone had ever pronounced it “Hen-key and Pill-ot,” the Operation Bluebook people would’ve investigated them. This was back when “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” was a big deal.

I always hated the movie plots where no one believed the guy who warned of space invaders. You can hear the thing breathing behind the arborvitae bush, yet no one notices. Makes me want to slap somebody.

    My kid sister Jill is the same way. In fact, today while we were visiting the Big Kroger in Willis, something happened to make us both turn simultaneously and point to the other like in the remake of Body Snatchers. The one with Donald Sutherland. I don’t remember what it was that sparked the reaction, but, when it happened, Jill and I pointed at each other and let out one of the screams from the movie, only we whispered the scream. (You’re gonna hafta rent the movie.)

    There was only the one Body Snatcher moment while we were at the Big Kroger. We really enjoyed the B K experience. I’ve been to many a Kroger, and I’ve been to Willis, but it was the first time for us to go to the Big Kroger in Willis.

    The B K has everything from towels to tables, nuts to nightlights, and bulbs to barometers. Wait a minute. What I saw may have been a digital rain gage. I don’t do much studying when I shop. Kay and Jill? They study.

    If you ever get separated in a Wal-Mart, you might as well try to find your car and hope your spouse remembers where you parked. The Big Kroger is much less cramped. The aisles are wider and the place much more user friendly. If your vision is good enough, you could spot your spouse from a hundred yards away.

    After saying that, I still lost Kay and Jill. At one point I asked a guy walking by if he had seen my sister. He said, “No. Have you seen my wife?” The second time I ran into him, we were both still wifeless and I was sisterless.

    We stopped and talked awhile by one of the three egg displays. Ray recognized me from my newspaper picture. When his wife eventually happened by he told her, “Hey, this is the guy who sits on the roof.” She was speechless. No, I mean she had nothing to say.

    A few minutes later another guy recognized me. He told me that he was the guy who wrote a letter to the paper about 15 years ago in response to an article I wrote about cats. I thought the article humorous, but the Super Cat PAC clobbered me. His letter was the only one in support of my tongue-in-cheek cat trashing. I would’ve hugged him, but someone around us might’ve seen the Body Snatcher remake.

    I was standing in line at the B K Starbucks when I caught a glimpse of Jill and Kay about a mile and a half away. Did I mention the place was spacious? I vacated my place in line and ran to meet them. Caught up with ‘em at an egg display. (I made that up.)

    On top of the piled-high cart were two throw pillows. Kay told me she was getting them because they only cost $5.99.” Kay never adds a penny to a 99. I don’t care if it was $999.99 she wouldn’t call it a thousand.

    After my “whatever” expression, she said, “Would you like me to go back and get the matching couch?” I’m not kidding. The Big Kroger sells couches! And, they've got a jewelry store and a place that dispenses pounds of nuts, spices and chocolate weird things.

    Even with the long wait at the checkout, I give the Willis B K a big thumbs up. Jill liked it, too. She bought a whistling tea kettle. Was eager to get home and try it out. – Hey, we were rather sheltered as kids. Back in the day, we only went to church and places like Weingarten’s and Hinky & Pea-lot.

Speaking of which, I’m so glad Henke and Pillot don’t own the Big Kroger. The name “Big Hinky & Big Pealot” might scare people away..

END

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Finding God in a jellybean

“Jellybeans”

    ROOFTOP – Grab a pillow and plant your buns. I hated to drag out the ladder and haul up lawn chairs, so I just climbed out the upstairs window. Thought we’d use pillows to sit on. Whoever shows up late is going to be cushionless.   

    That’d be okay if it weren’t for the ridges and valleys on this metal roof. They’re a bear on the bottom. By the way, I had an uncle who died of that.

    This is an absolute perfect night for a roofsit. That breeze is a dandy. It must be overcast, ‘cause I can’t see a star up there. Can you? The moon is to your left, just a glow from behind the clouds. I’m sure you picked up on that. It’s so rare that I insult someone’s intelligence.

    I tell you this, you wouldn’t be insulting my intelligence if you tried to explain to me the speed and path of the moon’s revolution around the earth. I saw the moon out in the late morning, and it’s out again tonight. How does that work?

    I would think the path and timing would be constant. When I was a teacher I’d mention about the seasons and the earth’s rotation and the whole spinning on its axis at an angle thing. But, fortunately, no student ever asked me about the moon. Possibly, because I taught history and political science. Easier to work the sun into a historical discussion than the moon. Don’t know why that is.
 
    Speaking of weird stuff, you know how some people will try to prove the existence of God by pointing out something in nature? Well, they do. I’ve even done it a time or two. I never used the bumblebee thing, though.

When Mrs. Hamilton, my seventh grade science teacher, told me that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, I wanted to toss my 30 pound book at her. I’ll have you know that Dennis and I were sitting in a tree once and a bumblebee flew by and stung him right between the eyes. Just to be mean. Dennis swelled up till he looked oriental. I wish we would’ve owned a working camera.

Impossible for a bumblebee to fly? Right. What a terrible way to try to prove that God is here. A better way is to watch the segment I saw last night on “Factory Made.” That’s a show on the Science Channel. They showed the entire process of making jellybeans. A spiritual experience it was. I don’t know how many times I said, “Unbelievable!” Kay does.

    Did you know that they make a separate mold for each bean? Thousands of bean molds. And, they make ‘em out of cornstarch. Even reuse the stuff.

    They send a gigantic plate of cornstarch jellybean molds down to a machine with hundreds of little faucets that shoot the right amount of sugary jelled stuff into each mold. Takes a fraction of a second. I’ve got three outdoor faucets at my house, and I’ve never had all three of ‘em perfectly operational at the same time. The jellybean factory has hundreds, thousands of faucets that work perfectly in a fraction of second. And, they each shoot out the same amount of jell at the exact same moment.

    Then they cool and reheat and do bunch of other stuff to the beans before tossing them out. The raw beans are eventually coated with sugar, flavor and color. They do that three times. All jellybeans have the same insides. It’s the outer shell that gives them flavor.

    I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that humans did all of that, not God. You are so wrong. God wanted us to have jellybeans so he made some people really smart on how to use physics as it concerns machines and sugar. After hundreds of years of tinkering, viola!  Somebody hit on the jellybean.

    If you can watch that process and walk away with no sense of intelligent design, then you need to watch how balloons are made. You will not believe it! Kay finally had to say, “Darling, not another word. You’re just going to have to accept it.”

    I really believe I could come much closer to understanding how the moon works, than accepting the process of how balloons and jellybeans are made. Oh, and those fold-up pliers that have knife blades and scissors and whatnots in ‘em. Unbelievable!  Oops, I’m glad Kay’s not up here. – Next time.  

         A project being worked on at Texas A&M -- Jellybean corn. They're about two years away.

end
   
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Free day!

“Leap Day a holiday!” 

    This year we each get an extra day. Has to do with the fact that the earth’s journey around the sun takes a little more than 365 days. Six hours more. Don’t ask me why.

    And, don’t ask me how somebody figured it out. The guy probably stuck a couple of sticks in the ground and lined ‘em up with the sun, or looked through a hole in a wall somewhere and figured out how long it took the sun to return to that very spot.

I couldn’t do that, ‘cause I’d forget to go back and check. “Let’s see, did I count yesterday? I’d better mark it down just in case. That’s it, 437 days in a year.” Either that or somebody would kick over my sticks.

While I don’t know how the really smart and persistent person figured out the extra six hours each year, I am going to take his word for it. Most of my days are spent taking somebody’s word for it. – Wow, it took 13 gallons to fill my tank when it is only supposed to hold 11.5. Or, wow, this ice cream has one-third the fat of the regular stuff. Or, I’m buying this pack of wieners, ‘cause it’s “all beef.” I defy anyone to figure out what goes into a wiener.

So, I believe it takes the earth 365 days and six hours to go around the sun, ‘cause everyone else seems to accept it. And, we apparently accept the handling of the extra six hours each year. We just save the hours up for four years and then add an extra day to February. I would’ve recommended we have a December 32, but nobody asked.

Do you know what it means when you get an extra day? It means that this time last year was really yesterday. Ponder that wonderment for awhile. Don’t make me explain it, ‘cause if I think about it too long, I’ll think that today is last year’s tomorrow.

Regardless, I don’t believe there is nearly enough attention paid to Leap Day. An extra day is thrown into the year and nobody seems to give a hoot. At the very least, some authoritative figure – Oprah perhaps – should announce on January 1, 2016, “Okay, this year we all get one extra day. I’m giving everyone a Ford Focus.” That would at least make us more aware.

 As is, unless your birthday falls on Leap Day, you probably don’t even feel the extra day. Some of you may not even be aware that last Wednesday was Leap Day? I’m aware because NOW is last Wednesday for me. Isn’t that cool?

You see, I’m now starting a tradition whereby I write an article every Leap Day. That way, four years from now, if anyone asks what I did last Leap Day (which they always do) I’m going to be able to say, I wrote an article… assuming I’m still alive and I remember to do it. There are a few other ifs, but let’s not dwell.

It’s apparent to me and other right thinking people that Congress should declare every Leap Day a holiday. It happens once every four years, for heaven’s sake! Surely that’s not going to melt the ice cap.

The holiday would give each of us, except those in some service industries – Wal-Mart, Cinemark, Whataburger, The Sheriff’s office… -- a free day to do anything we wanted. Like maybe something we wouldn’t normally do. How fun would that be? Maybe we could exchange Leap Day gifts. China would probably like that.

Granted, four years is not enough time for Congress to agree on making February 29, 2016 a holiday, but perhaps in 2020 we’ll get there. Then again, on December 21 of this year, according to somebody’s interpretation of the Mayan calendar, we’re going to experience some serious global destruction. Biblical proportion type stuff.

Come to think, Leap Day may stave off the apocalypse for a day. Or speed it up a day. I don’t know how anybody figures this stuff out.  

END

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Determining bird gender. Don't ask.

“It’s territorial”

    ROOFTOP -- The first thing I’m gonna do is lose the shirt. Not cool enough for flannel. I only grabbed it before climbing up here, because it was one of the few times Kay wasn’t wearing it.

The woman has started wearing my shirts. Granted, she looks cuter in ‘em than I do, but that’s only because I stopped looking cute at the age of 18 months. At least that’s what Dad told me. And, I didn’t even ask him.

It’s absolutely beautiful up here is it not? The ground is wet as all get out, but we’ve got a dry roof with a small splotch of shade, thanks to the water oak. Thanks, water oak. The leaves are still green on the thing. Not sure it’s ever going to let lose of those things. Probably still waiting for winter.

I have every confidence that it’s perfectly safe to unwrap my pipes. Not that I’m in need of the faucets. I can’t believe all the rain. People on the lake are probably dancing the dance of, uh… “The Lake is at 80 percent capacity and we’re real happy.” There is bound to be a dance for that.

I’m not sure you call what those two mockingbirds are doing “a dance.” No, over there in the neighbor’s tree. Boy, they’re really getting after each other. And, they’re not singing about it. They’re grackling. Not a happy sound. I don’t know if it’s foreplay or a territorial dispute.

Hard to call, ‘cause I can’t tell the sex of mockingbirds. Well, of all birds. All except for cardinals. The real red one is the male. I know them. And, peacocks. The male is the show-off with the big plume. Eyeball patterns on the feathers. Almost like they’re dressed for Mardi Gras. And, no, I’ve never been.

Oh, and I can tell the sex of chickens. If they’re chickens, they’re female. I can’t tell the sex when they’re chicks, though. I saw a documentary where some ladies in a chicken warehouse were sorting chicks by sex. I have no idea what they were looking for, but each would pick up a chick, glance at it and throw it one of two bins. I don’t even think the hatchlings new what they were, but those two ladies did. Acted like they did, anyway.

Chickens must have the poorest quality of life of all creatures. Other than earthworms. Squirming around in rotting manure is no picnic. Take my word.

Oh, and speaking of cats, I was at the computer yesterday evening, looked over and saw two cats on the roof. Free range cats. On my roof! Is nothing sacred? 

Cats on the roof and dandelions in the yard. I fear it’s the year of the dandelion. I hate ‘em. An ugly weed with a rather pleasant sounding name. Dandelion. I pulled up all the tall ones. It was easy after about the third rain.

Yesterday I grabbed hold of some bull nettle without paying attention. A dandelion is no fun to grab, but it’s so much better than a first full of bull nettle. My hand didn’t start stinging till minutes later.

The first time I met bull nettle I was in forestry school. After a morning of surveying, I laid down in some of the stuff and really wished I hadn’t. The guys were quick to tell me the cure for bull nettle stings, but I decided against it. You’re supposed to wet on the affected area. Someone else is going to have to tell you if that works or not.

After a day or two more of sunshine, I’ll go ahead and mow the rest of the weeds. The first mow of the year. Not looking forward to that. I’ve gotta change the oil, the air filter and probably the blade. I don’t sharpen blades. It
always always messes up my knees.

 

See if you can find the male chick.

By the way, the mockingbirds? I’m pretty sure there’s no wooing going. I’m thinking it’s territorial and it’s between two males. If they were chickens or peacocks, I wouldn’t have to guess about that.—Next time.

END

To watch Brad and Mark’s review of Mama J’s BBQ & Grill, go to YouTube and key in Mark Hayter Mama J’s BBQ. You can reach Mark at mark@rooftopwriter.com