In November 2010 I posted a blog entitled “Boardwalk Furries”.

To date it is the most popular blog posting I’ve created. It relates our encounter with a group of folks who get their jollies dressing up like stuffed animals and hanging out. They also ‘yiff’, which is what furries do when bumping uglies.

Judging by the topic’s popularity, perhaps I should write about pseudo-sexual deviance on display at oceanfront locales more often. Think of the ratings.


A couple of friends on Facebook have shamed me over my experiences in Arizona. It’s actually my lack of experiences that is the shameful part. While stationed in Ft. Huachuca, I failed to visit a town called Bisbee. I actually failed to visit most of Arizona although I made a day trip once to Tuscon. Through WordPress I met a person from Bisbee–Find an Outlet–who is an interesting representative of an intriguing place. Check out her blog.

But what all the shaming reminds me is that we should explore the world around us, regardless of where in the World we are. I’ve a paltry collection of photos, writings, and memorabilia from the places I traveled back in the day. I recall spending much of my time pissed with myself for winding up in places where I knew no one and no thing about my environment. Instead of learning like a grown up, I cowered like a child. I stayed in my room, listened to my cassettes from high school and wrote boring letters back home. Blech.

But what’s done is dinner and I refuse to play with my food.

I learned that lesson years ago. Funny how the reminder came back through a few pictures of a town I’ve never visited.

Explore your world, wherever you are.


A man came in the office the other day asking for the manager. Sadly, that’s me. He sat in my office and requested a tour of the facility in addition to asking me many questions. He was an older man with scuffed boots and blue work pants with a red handkerchief peeping out of his back pocket.

I asked why he was interested.

“My family owned the land that this place is on. I grew up on this land.”

Over the years, he’d driven by many times.

“Just to look, ya know. See what was happening on the old homestead.”

I gave him a tour and told him as much about our company as legal. We were standing on the dock. I was rattling off bullshit a pound per minute, trying to convince the man how much good a milk company can do. The nutritious aspect of what we sell. The thousands of pounds of dairy products donated to local Food Banks. He smiled and looked around.

We walked around the back lot.

“I think this is where the chicken house was…I guess. Hard to tell.”

We made it back downstairs to the coffee pot. By now, he was rattling off and I was smiling. His Daddy was a dirt farmer who worked in Richmond at what was the Lucky Strike plant. He and his siblings worked the farm; mornings, evenings, summers, weekends, whenever. He said he couldn’t remember how many times they ate meat at a meal. Somewhere around once or twice a month. The rest of the time it was beans, cornbread, or whatever Mama could boil over the fire. There were Eleven brothers & sisters.
One brother died young. I could tell by the way he said it, he’d never talked much about it. The words just fell out of his mouth.

As he was leaving I explained the gate would open up automatically, as his car got near it.

“Mama never wanted to sell it. Developers just gave her too much money after Daddy died. Now she’s gone. Me and one sister up in Maryland is all that’s left.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He smiled. “Yep. Let me go see your fancy gate. Thanks for your time.”


A television is a handy piece of furniture when your bookshelf is full and you need to put a book down someplace.

Other than that, it’s mostly useless.


Go Bears…