Four country boys

There we were, four country boys walking through the dusty outskirts of town, kicking cans as we went. No mailbox remained standing in our wake, and several birds and varmints lay still in the dirt behind us. Boredom was written over our faces, especially mine. Tipping cows had lost its fun. We miscreants were onto bigger and better things.

A contest had began amongst us; what were you willing to do? Definitely "don't try this at home" kind of stuff. It was like truth or dare, only without the dare; more like dare or double dare. It was all risk, with little reward. After all, stealing the chip's big-boy statue out front had no reward. We couldn't tell a soul, or they would find it. Somehow, they found it anyway.

Today we were walking in an open field, with tall yellowing grass, rolling hills, and stock ponds. Out here in Texas, bales of hay are rolled round and are very large, like everything else in Texas. To keep them from falling apart, round metal cages are placed around the bales. When laying flat, the cages are four feet tall and more than seven feet across. They're made of four big metal rings with bars between them to hold them together.

And here, at the top of a hill, we found one of those cages standing on end. In other words, it was four big metal rings, standing straight up, big enough to walk in. Here it was, on a forty foot high hill; at the bottom of the hill was a large pond surrounded by drinking cows.

One of my friends, David, who I considered a little crazy, didn't take care for his own life (let alone mine if I got involved). David reminds me of Grizzly Adams; you know, that character in that eighty's show where a large man adopts a grizzly bear and they live together in the woods? David wasn't as big as Grizzly Adams; he was as big as the bear and twice as strong.

Anyway, there I found myself in the cage with David, pushing our butts together and holding on with our arms and legs at the top and bottom of the massive cage. I remembered getting inside a big tire when I was a kid. I rolled down the hill, got out and spun around for a bit, felt a little dizzy, but everything was okay in the end. I don't know why that was fun, but here I was, ready to do it again. It was like that tire ride, upscaled and worthy of our shenanigans. If you can roll one in a tire, you can roll two in a bale cage. There was even a pond for us to land it. We had it made. What could go wrong?

Standing together in the cage, all we needed was a push. Neither of my two other friends were reluctant to push get us going either. Slowly, over and over we went, bracing against each other. As my feet went up into the air, it was no big deal. Then, I was turning upside-down, and my knuckles were headed straight for a rock. Ouch!

Something cracked where my other hand was, and David and I both frantically looked up; or was it down? Just a stick, not my finger, no biggie. Glad that was over; right side up again. Glad that was over. Were we speeding up? Yup. Ouch, I hit another rock and almost lost hold. Next time around, my knuckles squished into a cow patty, still warm. I gagged, almost choking on my lunch. David laughed. What an ass.

We hadn't traveled very far by that point. I bet there was another hundred feet of hill left. Before I could imagine how many more revolutions were left to torture us with, there was no time. Around and around again, spinning faster and faster, we went. I wasn't going to let go for any reason, and I knew crazy David wouldn't either. Rocks, sticks, and worse, smashed and scratched up our hands, but they had long grown numb. Who cares when you can't feel it, right? Besides, we were about to hit water.

So the thing about this pond is there was a favorite drinking spot for the cows, a spot that is particularly muddy. The cows stomp around and shit all over the place. Their hooves mix everything together as they trample. This mud is always black as night and smelly as, well, shit. From the top of the hill, the muddy spot looked really small, but it seemed to have grown longer as we approached. We cringed together, closing our eyes and mouths for what we knew was going to come; we would have closed our noses if we could.

I remember my knuckles hitting that mud. So cool and soft, it felt so good. But rather than continuing to spin, the cage slowed rapidly, sinking into the mud. Just like quicksand, we went deep. Our motion stopped abruptly, the cage squishing to a halt in less than half of a turn. No one could hang on at those forces.

Flying we went, both of us landing in the stinky mud. It was better than the hard, dry dirt, but it wasn't water. We were covered in shit, but there were no broken bones. Scrambling to our feet, we slogged our way to the water and jumped in. Success!

Laughing and joking, throwing muddy hand-fulls of stuff at each other, off we went. And as great as the memories were, I hoped I would not be part of the next stunt.

That day was the day that I learned: It's better in life to come up with the ideas and get someone else to do them; if it's a good idea, somebody has to do it.

The Raccoon

"No momma, no" I screamed as I ran out into the backyard for protection. My collie named bullet, my best friend, my protector was always there in my time of need. He would stand up for me in any situation, even if it was time for a spanking. Of course, I had to come in to eat and my discipline was waiting... Like it or not.

Growing up, I always had a fascination with animals. I wanted them all to be pets. Every summer I would go for a two week trip to my grandmothers house. My uncle had a infatuation with raccoons. He was always trying to make a pet out of one. He would catch them as youngsters, hand feed them, love them and care for them but, it never worked. Raccoons are just inherently mean. As soon as they reached a certain age, the same thing always happened, the wild came back. He would let that one go and try again.

This was the early 70's in a small town. I was at my grandmothers and my youngest uncle was walking home from an errand to the convenience store on a small back road. When he finally got home my grandmother ran to the door to meet him yelling "what happened to you". Apparently, 3 or 4 older kids out raising hell, stopped in their car and got out and beat him up pretty bad.

After a full box of band aids and some motherly love, I could see the anger setting in. It was payback time.

I saw so much love go into these raccoons but, now I could see that the meanness in these raccoons was now going to shine. Donny, took an old suitcase and put his favorite raccoon inside the suitcase and off walking we went. We stooped at a place close to where he was beaten and he laid the suitcase close to the edge of the road. It was like he knew they would be back.

I don't think nowadays, I would stop for anything laying on The side of the road but, this was the early 70's and in this town most everybody was poor. Sure enough, in about 10 minutes here came a big 4 door car with a ton of chrome, so popular in those days. They drove just past the suitcase and then stopped, then backed up. One large boy stepped out and grabbed the suitcase and pulled it in. The door closed and off they went. They drove no more than 50 feet and the car screeched to a halt. Four doors opened and four guys piled out screaming, running for there lives.

My uncle and I watched and laughed so hard our sides hurt. A few minutes later here came that raccoon slowly, leisurely, taking his time waddling out of the car. Maybe, it's just my imagination but, that raccoon was laughing too.

Tennis ball cannon

When I say, "back in the day", it's getting pretty far back. Nowadays, a teenager’s time is filled with Internet and targeted afternoon television. Back in the day, my mother said she walked uphill both ways to school in the snow but that just didn't seem logical. But, back in my day, time was spent just looking for something to fill an afternoon void. Experimenting with bugs: a rollypollie fits perfectly in a .177 caliber pellet rifle. Sometimes, the "experiments" were mean, dangerous, illegal or just downright immoral. Ninety percent of the time it would have something to do with a projectile.

 

Many times I have thought about putting down some of these stories to share but, then I think no, I'm lucky I did not get hurt or kill myself. The majority of them ended in an ouch then but, a really good chuckle now.

 

I decided I would write a "how to" on; "Making a tennis ball cannon" because, the main component is no longer available. In reality, this toy is no more dangerous than the potato cannons seen around nowadays. I suppose, that the potatoes' propellant would have made an ever better accelerant.

I can't be credited with the invention of this cannon but, I did make many modifications far beyond the scope of this article. I found instructions on how to make a "tennis ball cannon" on a Usenet newsgroup.

Supplies:

Duck tape

a tennis ball

denatured alcohol

fireplace lighter

(3) 1970's "tin", not aluminum soda can.

can opener

Preparation:

First you will want to take these antique soda cans and destroy all three.

1. On the top can you want to make a cylinder. So, cut out the top and the bottom of the can with an electric can opener.

2. On the middle can you want to make a very leaky cup. So, cut out the top of the can with an electric can opener to make a cup. Then, lets make that cup very leaky. Take your manual can opener and cut 6 wedges around evenly in the bottom of your cup.

3. Finally, the bottom can. Cut out the top smooth and make a cup out of your can. About a 1/2" up from the bottom of your can make a pin-hole in the can.

Assembly:

You can make anything out of duck tape and it will work. It's time to build your cannon.

1. Simply, tape the bottom can to the middle can and then tape the bottom can and the middle can to the top can.

Firing:

Now that your cannon is assembled, it's time to see what she can do.

1. Place cannon flat on the ground pointing upwards. Stay clear of obstructions.

2. Load one cap full of denatured alcohol in to your cannon.

3. Drop a tennis ball you don't mind losing into your cannon.

4. Get as far away as possible from your cannon and reach out with the fireplace lighter and touch the pinhole.

5. Bye, bye tennis ball.

Right about the time I found how to make the tennis ball cannon, those old tin cans went out with the vacuum tubes. I spent a lot of time searching for a replacement for the old tin can. Some things kinda worked, others didn't but, none worked half as well as that old can. Not PVC, the tennis ball can it's self, vegetable cans, absolutely nothing.

So, if your willing to search out and find 3 tin soda cans and destroy them, I'll discourage you right now and tell you‚ go out and by a paint ball gun. They are much easier to point and shoot than your cannon. Yes, I fired my cannon at my friends and they returned fire. A major problem with the tennis ball cannon is that it tends to leave the barrel on fire. Makes a great spectacle at night but the neighbors get annoyed when it lands in their yard.

The Circus

The world is such a small place I thought to myself, thinking back about all the places I've been and travels I took as a young boy.

Things were always normal, from my point of view anyways. I remember, the midnight special, wolf man jack and the odd, very odd acts on this show like David Bowie and Alice Cooper. Nobody is really like that, I thought, it's just a show, an act.

Rainbow hair, leather, lace and chains abound.  Red lights, prostitutes and every imaginable color of accessories in between. Piccadilly was a learning experience that a boy of my age could have waited a few years to see and for sure to understand.

One of my favorite memories, coming from a typical small town USA upbringing in Texas,  was a church sponsored vacation to London at the early age of 14.

Traveling with a friend of the same age, we were the only teenagers on this trip and it was necessary for us to "buddy up" with some of the adult travelers. A older gentleman who happened to be the father of twins, our girlfriends at the time, seemed like the best choice. After all, we both had already been through the predate work over with Bobby, have my girls home by 10:00 and so on . There was a relationship between us and some sort of trust but, Bobby was a character, jokes, pranks and always something funny to say.

After landing in London and sleeping off our jet-lag,  Bobby suggested a trip to see the circus. Every young boy  gets excited to see the circus, "of course, let's go" and off to the subway we went.

I remember riding on the train thinking, clowns, elephants ... The trapeze, are we there yet?

After a short ride, off the train, up the steps and to the street. As we emerged from the subway, my eyes grew in amazement, it was the midnight special in real life.

Rainbow hair, leather, lace and chains abound.  Red lights, prostitutes and every  imaginable color of accessories in between.

Bobby said, "well boys, Piccadilly".

Myrna's present

"Good morning, Jim!" These three words has been Myrna’s diurnal greeting for me for the past eight years every time I hurry myself to my cube. She has always articulated these words in a lilting manner, jovial and earnest, typical of any secretary, but better. Sometimes she appears a bit drawn due to the rigors of the job, but the small furrows on her forehead belies her heartfelt demeanor. She always fails in this department, and the “Good morning, Jim!” mantra always sounded sincere whatever her mood.

“Morning, Myrna!” I paid the greeting back. In my first few months at the job, I graduated from a simple nod, to a keen morning salutation with a plastered smile, then to a reciprocal warm greeting. A short chat lasting about 30 seconds has been the order of the day since then until it evolved into a minute of small talk.

“Now, Chairman Mao loves Disney,” I said as I revealed my peculiar fascination with the Mickey Mao doll teetering on the edge of her table. “I bought that when I spent a week in Hong Kong four years ago,” she replied, her hands clasped in eagerness. Transparent and open, Myrna was never reserved.

One time, I saw her back from a two week vacation in Russia. At the back corner of her table is the new addition, a Russian doll tactically placed far from any invading hands. The telephone, pile of folders and the computer monitor hindered its location. “This is a Matryoshka doll. Got it as a present from a cousin in St. Petersburg,” she told me while lining up the nested dolls, all eight of them, from the biggest to the smallest.

She was never irritated nor sulky, but this time her smile cannot obscure her jadedness. “I’m thinking about early retirement,” she opined. She then added, “I just got diagnosed with muscular dystrophy after my vacation. The diagnosis was not definite but I think my doctor was just being euphemistic for the meantime.” All these admission by her without me asking.

Not that I don’t care. Our relationship may be casual, but those years of small talk with her resulted in a form of friendship. There is no cure for such a rare degenerative disease. Luckily somehow, the type of muscular dystrophy that she developed does not progress too fast. However, help and understanding are immediate matters to a person who is anticipating a life-threatening certainty. These are crucial as much as curative drugs and therapies.

From one hour of advanced login time at work, this progressed into a 15-minute pre-login time. She now hurries herself to her workstation. Her inward disposition drastically deteriorated, while her attitude towards her colleagues never changed. I could only empathize that much and never fully understand.

One night as I was browsing through countless newsgroups on the Internet, I stumbled upon this muscular dystrophy support group. It was a small group, perhaps with just a handful of members scattered around the world. The next day with a grande latte on one hand and a small piece of paper on another, I handed both to Myrna. “Go check this out,” I prodded her while pointing to the note.

Later that night, she phoned me to thank about my small contribution. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” she thanked me profusely after a half an hour exchange with another person with the same condition. Luckily, there was one from Galveston, 80 miles from where she lives. I could sense the excitement in her voice. It was as if she already underwent several therapy sessions. “I will be on a group chat with the rest of them next week,” she announced. Or maybe she is just being a normal woman who needs a constant confidante. One thing’s certain, sometimes letting out your pent up worries is already the drug that you need. It’s catharsis at work.

One day while hurrying myself to my cube I saw Myrna almost racing with me towards our respective eight-hour niches. Her calculated gait looked airy and easy. Though I am sure her condition has worsened a bit, her outward appearance has remained the same, always genuine and wholehearted. She does not hurry herself anymore, but she does not login an hour in advance either. She just takes her time. “I found three other people like me here in Texas. We just might meet up next month, hopefully,” she told me. Then she blurted out, “Goodbye in a few weeks!” Surprised, I sported a wide grin.

By the end of the month, a small paper bag greeted me as I entered my cube. Inside is a Matryoshka doll with a note saying, “Thank you very much!”

I owe my left ear to Usenet

Let me explain.
When I was a child I Swam in cold dirty ponds, made
mud pie full of worms and Lord knows what else after the rains came,
I've been caught tasting my share of bugs (don't lie, you did too), my
brother and I would make formula one tracks under our broken rusty
trampoline to race our hot wheels on, not to mention the obsession I had
for fire crackers...


Looking back on it I was a renegade child, where were my parents do
you ask? Oh, they were there, well ma was. Fixing dinner, cleaning
house, trying to keep up with three kids what a task. My father worked
all day, by the time he got home us kids were innocent as lambs.


I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you readers, that when I was 7 I
fell ill with fever. I'm not talking about a fever that is fixed by ice
baths or sweating in out under the covers. I was ill, ill with a 106
fever and delusions. After a few days the left side of my face began to
swell. I had a ring around my entire ear that imitated ring worm but on a
much larger scale, like a do-nut that had a bright red glow and radiated
heat.


The doctors tried drops first, then drains followed by pills. They
kept on sending me home with further instructions, with no avail. After
two weeks both the doctors and my mother were at a loss for remedies.
With the fear of surgery, ma searched high and low in books, calling
friends, the internet. Then, stumbling along the Usenet
alt.binaries.advise she was able to communicate with people from all
around the globe. Shortly after chatting with a gentlemen from Europe
she frantically ran out to local health food store and bought up their
supply of ear candles. After getting the approval of my father she lit
candle after candle pulling the gunk from my puss infected ear along
with the build up from my sinuses. Turns out I had a tear in my canal
and with all the inflammation none of the medical remedies could reach
the source of the problem to resolve it.


To wrap things up, I was back to making mud pies and all the other
harmful, dangerous and care free games in days. Thank you Usenet for
restoring my ear drum. I am currently a 23 year old surgery free Big
Kid!

Controlling Child Pornography on the Usenet

Andrew Cuomo stands out against Usenet

This an article that I wrote many years back and I posted it on an article site to generate traffic for my Usenet website. Someone that worked for President Obama read it and decided to post it on the Presidents website. It generated an incredible amount of visitors to my website. Here it is in it's entirety.

It all started when a network was designed with the initial purpose of exchanging text messages between connected university computers. When the ability to exchange non-textual files became possible, this network began to flourish. Today it is known as the Usenet. The dark side of the immensely popular Usenet is the advantage that enables the users to boldly distribute illegal images. The problem: distributing these sorts of files can make contributions to child pornography easy and anonymous.  So it is easily understandable that anonymity serves as the key for such criminals, which they feasibly use as a protective shell. The catch-22 is that the complete censorship of child pornography on Usenet cannot be implemented easily since it is somewhat impossible without banning Usenet completely. Why just strike out a war against Usenet when the percentage of child pornography is basically small. The cutting truth is, Child pornography can never be simply rooted out and finished forever.

Amidst darkness, the scintillating hope is that lately many Usenet communities have been reported to be curbed after important measures observed at the government level. Internet Service providers have been forced to shut down Usenet access at many places in order to cut down the incessant demand of child porn. Cuomo crackdown is a well-known open was happening against the erotic newsgroups of Usenet. “NY State attorney Andrew Cuomo has managed to get two more ISP’s to join his ‘Crusade’ against Usenet child porn. “(Roettgers, 2008). America Online is among the ISP’s who have agreed to do something about blocking child pornography and once it denies access to certain newsgroups, the Usenet is sure to become a less attractive magnet for cyber criminals. Another fact supporting the rampage against Usenet is that the Recording Industry Association of America sued Usenet for Millions of dollars, criticizing it as the network for illicit file sharing. Still saying that cyber censorship alone can play a vital role in stemming down child pornography is not actually true, since a large number of new Usenet groups are created daily. 

In comparison to all the opponents who suggest the ban of Usenet, some facts still suggest this mayhem to be a part of hyped criticism against this network. After all Usenet is not out and out about child pornography. Sure enough, Usenet hugely became a favored passage for the ones exchanging illicit material after it was superseded by the popularity of World Wide Web. Still very few out of the thousands of newsgroups supports child pornography. The complete banning of a huge network because of some black sheep is just not fair. There are thousands of useful discussion groups on Usenet, banning of which would mean a big loss for everyone. Nothing significant can be done about the criminals posting illegal images. We have to do our part to strictly avoid promoting child pornography. In the long run, the development of self-morality is what is needed to discourage the ones trading in child pornography.

Censorship its self must be initiated at the provider level, Millions of files are downloaded to the Usenet daily. Without over burdening the Usenet providers what can be done to deter child pornography?

1.     Only support newsgroups that are on the up and up. Many providers have lists of hundreds of thousands of newsgroups. What does it hurt to only have 85,000?

2.     Employ filters that can scan the posts file name and messages for keywords that pertain to child pornography.

3.     Support anti child pornography groups and let your members and the world know you are a part of these groups.

4.     Pre view data before it is made available on your server.

For Usenet to survive in the future, uncensored Usenet will have to become a thing of the past. 

Gregg Fikes is the owns a Usenet website due to open in fall 2008. 

Usenet browser

Usenet saved my brew

My daughter wrote this story and I posted it on my website. It got over a 100,00 views. A really good read. 

 I've worked in bars, after bar, serving beer, drinking beer, loving beer (or so i thought). It wasn't until I began working for a local craft beer bar that I learned what beer is. I mean Real beer. I only thought I knew beer before, turns out there is a whole other side of beer than what you can get in your 7-11's beverage isle.

Have you ever felt overwhelmed with the many styles and types of beer to choose from? I know I once did.  The fact of the matter is. there are quite literally hundreds of different ones out there. Let's take a look at what beer is actually made of so you get a better understanding of the varieties available.

The basic building blocks of beer are the four ingredients: water, malted barley, hops and yeast.

Here's the simplest overview, the factors that go into deciding the style of beer to be made is the type and amount of malt being used, the method used when adding the hops, and the strain of yeast used to ferment the beer. To get an even broader range of beer types, brewers will use specialty grains (malts) in a certain way that adds color and flavor to the beer without adding fermentable sugars. In specialty (craft) beers, the sky's the limit. Spices, fruit juices, candy, and just about anything else you can think of go into the brew. Beer has been separated into three separate categories: lagers, ales, and the rest fall into a category called craft beers. And let me tell you, once you taste craft you never go back!

I've recently moved to a small town where not only craft beer is unknown it's impossible to find. So, I began my quest of home brewing. I knew it would be a task but. I just couldn't live without my beloved smooth quality beer and being a lady I never settle for less than I deserve. Needless to say, on my mission I went from the local Library to the good ol' Internet but found nothing useful or instructional. I was feeling down right depressed. Then I remembered the Usenet my father used for work when I was a child. Sure enough it was my savior all thanks to rec.crafts.brewing on the Usenet. I was able to not only learn about the different brewing techniques but recipes I can use for the different season or possibly Christmas gifts? Also, I was able to get answers to questions I had along the way, such as sterilizing bottles, storage, pressure and labeling.

I can say as a matter for fact, that I will be using this very informative resource, the Usenet, for my many brewing sessions to come. This little lady owes here happiness to Usenet; I would be very lonely if I wasn't able to sip on my home-brewed craft beer, as I'm doing now.