UPDATE: I have lost Mark’s card…

As a master hoarder of all things historical and not-as-of-yet-historical, there is a secret pleasure in collecting calling cards. We know them better today as business cards.

Yesterday, I received four cards, possibly five, if one should include the double-side card.

The farthest came is from San Angelo, Texas. It was handed to me by this fella and his wife, whom I invited to visit the saloon where we were gathered for a post-funeral wake.

That is what happens when one drives up, asking, “Why is everyone dressed up so in period-piece?”

(Most id the people attending the funeral procession we’re dressed in mid-to-late 19th-century western wear.)

Nice couple. Small world.

Mark and I learned we have an odd crossing of personal history…

• He was born in Sacramento, the same as my brother.
• We each had a great Uncle that worked in the aerospace industry, namely Rockwell-Rocketdyne. His in Texas, mine in Los Angeles.
• Each of our Great uncles brought us a small poster from Virginia City, Nevada when we were kids. The short poem “My Job.”
• And finally, we both have family in Oklahoma, where he and his wife live.

That is the value of a calling card, and yes, I will use the older vernacular in this case, and why still I maintain that a ‘stranger is really a friend you ain’t met yet.”

Standing on the observation platform, the Commander and a Sub-commander of the spaceship looked at the blue orb known as Earth. The craft’s sensors detected a planet devoid of human life.

Soon the scouts they had sent to investigate returned. The lead scout reported to the platform where the two officers waited.

“Did you find any sign of the Humans?” the Sub-commander asked.

“None,” answered the Scout.

“What caused their disappearance?” the Commander asked.

“I can only speculate,” the Scout began, “But they may have bought and used so much toilet paper during the pandemic that they wiped themselves out.”

The sergeant sat in his cubicle listening to the static and hiss of the shortwave. His duty was monitoring the signal being bounced from Moscow to West Germany, write down anything he heard and report it to the duty officer.

Three-years through his four-year Air Force enlistment, and with a couple of hours left in this shift, John had heard little worth reporting. It seemed to him that the so-called ‘cold war,’ was below the freezing mark, and he could hardly wait to rotate home.

He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, then paused with a slight head jerk. He had heard something faint, but it was there nonetheless.

Dash-dot-dot, dot, dot-dash, dash-dot-dot. Dead in Morse code.

He transcribed the words that followed. Certain he had it right, John got up and went to the duty officer with the intercept.

“Are you sure?” the Captain asked.

“Yes, sir,” John answered.

Returning to his radio and headset, he would finish his shift with the knowledge that he knew something that the rest of the world, including those in the nearby cubicles, would learn later. For now, he had to remain tight-lipped and close out his day in silence.

Back at his single-room billet, the young sergeant tried to sleep, but it was impossible. His mind kept playing those four letters over and over.

Finally, he gave up and went to the corner and picked up his guitar. He sat back on his bunk and began plunking those four letters over and over until he found their rhythm.

It wouldn’t be for another two years that he’d finally find a use for that chord. By then, everybody knew what John had first learned that March day, and now it was old news, and still the Cold War continued.

Fifteen-years would pass before that chord would be considered a future county music classic. You’ve probably even heard the famous words, “But I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die,” a time or two.

Dash-dot-dot, dot, dot-dash, dash-dot-dot.

At one time, Johnny Cash had been the only person outside the Soviet Union to know that Joe Stalin had died. And the Man in Black would immortalize that secret in “Folsom Prison Blues,” hours before the world would learn this too.

My Cousin Elmo says, “The problem with being empathic is that you feel sorry for the assholes, too.”

Perhaps I should have known it was gonna be an “Ahh, crap!” kinda day.

My wife brought home two cream-fill donuts for me. Aside from already partaking in my “doctor recommended” two cups of coffee, the one donut turned out to be jelly-fill, the other empty.

“Ahh, crap!” I complained, eating both anyway.

Everything started out alright, then I decided to remove the fluorescent lights from the garage ceiling. All was well as I did not electrocute myself, fall off the ladder or break any of the tubes.

Then I realized that other lights were no longer on. Track and trace, trace and track to find the “short” in the powerline, and I have yet to locate the problem.

My brain growls, “Ahh, crap!”

As I was finishing up a news article, editing and locating a suitable picture to go with it when the power went out to the television, stereo, and the Internet. Did the problem in the garage earlier cause this?

Immediately I think, “Ahh crap!”

Discovered that a fuse had popped off at the junction box. Easy enough to fix, so I return to the computer where my news article…is gone…and I must start from scratch.

Now say it with me: “Ahh, crap!”

BAM! He jumped from bed at the sound, looking at the bedside alarm, 3:17 am, and as the dog suddenly stopped barking.

Before he had a chance to react, they were on him, men in black uniforms forcing him to the floor and handcuffing him. He was bleeding from the top of his head, where a rifle butt has struck him.

Quickly, he was half-carried, half-dragged from his home, and into an awaiting vehicle. An EMT doctored the gash to his head before they were on the road to where he didn’t know.

Within minutes he was sitting in a small room, painted ocean green, in an unbalanced metal chair in a corner. There he waited for nearly an hour before a man in a crisp white buttoned-down longsleeved shirt and blue and red striped tie stepped into the room.

Without a word, the man placed a photograph and a letter on the small table near the wall. Only then did he introduce himself as a Special Agent.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked, pointing at the photo.

Still cuffed, he slid forward in his seat and looked closely at the image.

“It’s a picture of the letter you have next to it. It’s from a high school friend of mine,” he answered.

“Correct,” the agent said. “The photo’s from a postal service app called, “Informed Delivery.”

“Yeah,” the prisoner said, “I remember downloading it. So what? It’s on the app store site. Is this what this is all about?”

“No,” the agent answered, “It’s about your friend who’s been linked to an underground movement of domestic terrorists.”

“No way!” the man said.

The agent looked at his wristwatch, “In fact, he should be in custody by now. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit domestic terrorism.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” the man exclaimed. “And what about my right against unlawful search and seizure?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the agent said, scooping up the photograph and letter. “We didn’t have to get a warrant because you gave your permission by downloading the app. And as you know the postal service is a part of the government, so we can look at your mail anytime and flag whatever we see as a potential threat.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” the man said again as the interrogation room door closed.

**Note: there really is an app called “Informed Delivery” available from the U.S. Postal Service and from your favorite app store.

Moving womanhood forward nearly 10-days, the winner of Miss Silver State USA is a person of transgender. Kataluna Enriquez will now compete for Miss Nevada USA, the state pageant that leads to Miss USA and Miss Universe.

Several Dr. Suess books will remain out of print, banned for their racial bias. “Please tell me about my White Privilege again, Daddy,” said no child ever when wanting a bedtime story.  Cartoon character Pepe LePew has also been canceled due to rape allegations, even though in 1991, he married the cat he had chased on-screen since 1945.

And we were all given the pleasure of watching Cardi B. and Megan the Stallion rap and grind to their “Wet Ass Pussy,’ song during the recently televised Golden Globe award show. No word on the number of towels needed to wipe up the moisture left behind.

Masks have been named the top-selling item for 2020, followed by toilet paper and hand sanitizer. There was no mention of the propaganda the media managed to sell everyone about a “full-blown pandemic” and “a lack of widespread fraud.”

President Joe Biden fell three times while attempting to walking up the steps to Air Force One. No one was there to help him, while others on social media made fun of him despite the possibility that he has dementia.

You can also add the White House Easter Egg Roll to the list of yearly traditions canceled, once again by the pandemic. Reports are that roasted rabbit will be the delight of many tables this Easter Sunday.

Meghan and Harry sat down to have a chat with Oprah, where they got to air their Royal families dirty laundry while soiling themselves at the same time. Meanwhile, Oprah scores a fat wad of cash for her part.

Speaking of the Royals, Queen Elizabeth’s public birthday celebrations at Buckingham Palace have been canceled due to COVID-19. And soon there will be an unveiling of a new Princess Diana statue at Kensington Palace, in celebration of what would have been her sixtieth-birthday and just in time to be vandalized by the “woke” crowd.

Finally, Hasbro is planning to scrap “outdated” Community Chest cards in favor of new “woke” ones. There are issues with receiving a tax refund, getting a bank error in your favor, and winning a beauty contest.

Please allow me to repeat…beauty contest.

“Calvin Lamar Fritz, born November 12, 1959, in Crescent City, CA., passed away February 4, 2021, in Crescent City, CA.” That’s all the obituary reads.

Calvin, his brother Keven, my brother Adam, others, and I played “combat” day-after-day in the woods. And sometimes we fought like cats and dogs, and for real.

We met because our parents were long-time friends.

Considered “slow,” and places in special ed at Margaret Keating School with me, I refused to let anyone call Calvin an “M.R.,” because he wasn’t mentally-retarded. As a 5th grader, I got into a fight with an 8th grader because he kept calling Calvin names.

Calvin will always be the tender-hearted kid, that lived in Sages’ Court on the other side of Highway 101 from me.

It has been some time since I’ve turned on the television. Admittedly bored, I was curious to see what might be on and of possible interest to watch.

There is nothing.

Going through the channels, I discovered that we have two new national news stations: i24 and Newsy. After listening to them, I concluded both suffer from corporate propaganda also.

Nothing new there.

Interestingly, our service provider Spectrum has “muted,” “silenced,” or “shut off the sound,” to BBC News, Fox Business, and Fox News. Meanwhile, CNN and MSNBC are “sound efficient.”

Regardless of the presentation, this is censorship and wrong.

never let others
sense of morals keep you
from doing what is right