Buddy Guy was born here. Bonnie and Clyde died here. I just showed up looking for a job. South Louisiana, Lafayette to be exact. Like most folks all I knew of the area was that show about killing Gators. So far, the only Gator I’ve seen was in a Zoo, asleep. I came from where the South ends to where the West begins. The Mississippi is about 40 minutes east, just over the Basin Bridge. I’ve met Dick Dale, drank on the piss-lined street dubbed Bourbon, and ate Fried Gator and Boudin. That last word is ‘Boo-Dan’ with a slight dropping of the last syllable to sound Broken French instead of out-of-town. My hotel room was attacked by a nutjob cleaning his unregistered handgun, I wrecked a company vehicle on my 42nd birthday, and I bought my first home. I finally got to see the Gulf of Mexico and in a few weeks will be revisiting that area (Gulfport, MS) to see an old Army friend. Everything has its ups and downs, every place has its drawbacks. But I like the weather, most of the people are friendly enough to leave me alone, and my family is growing to enjoy the time here.

I still write though will admit to falling prey to fear after one story was published. It was no big deal. I think about six people read the damn thing on the publishing website, but still. Something about it jolted me from the What If? into the What Now?


I don’t really care that Hugo Chavez would vote for Obama given the chance. What bothers me is that most folks voting for Obama have no idea who Hugo Chavez is or what his support indicates…


I’ve tried to order a case of ATLAS beer from the distributor in Panama. So far no luck. Even with the help of Google Translator I can’t seem to convince the Panamanians that such libations are necessary for serious work to continue on the novel, ROMEOS. One can’t simply write about talking monkeys and NyQuil addiction while drinking any old import.


Nothing as informative as standing behind a 1,000 pound white guy who is buying Doritos with Food Stamps and realizing that your displeasure with such fraud and abuse is classified as Racism. It’s called transference. A Thief tells you everyone steals. I know not everyone on Welfare is Black or Hispanic. You know it as well. So why is it everytime someone talks about Welfare Reform it is twisted into “Racism”? Could it be that those who cry foul are the only ones assuming all Welfare Reform is designed to hurt Minorities because, “well, you know…who else is getting it?” The School System screws over Minorities, the Welfare System screws over Minorities but every attempt to correct the actions of those running those Systems (since their inception!) are declared Racist by the people running those Systems…Why? Could it be the Wolves in Sheep’s clothing are simply calling everyone else a Wolf?


A muted midget and a retired fat lady from a circus. They bounced out of a story about a kid named Eugene. I never really liked the story but couldn’t get it out of my head until I wrote it out. Now, a year or so later, all I remember is the retired fat lady and the circus bills she had posted on her walls. The crowning achievement of her life was being a freak.

Isn’t that the story of every interesting person? The pinnacle of glory is acceptance of your fringe status.


You ever move to the deep South and miss Cold Weather? Yep, me neither…I tickle me.


Be your own Best Friend.