Another Day to Screech...

It's not that I like to complain but I've about had it with the multitude of requests I receive to improve my credit rating, earn a police officer's degree, donate to save the Ilimutirak three-legged mouse, look up old classmates, find an over fifty friend, cleanse my colon, or enhance my sexual life. The most frequent request that sends me to the mountain top is the Enlarge Your Penis invitation. It usually follows the Pay Less for the Blue Pill advertisement. Someone in a foreign country believes I need to improvement my bedtime romps. Holy Cow!!

I would use another expletive but this is open to the public...so I'll just say Holy Cow again and you figure out what I want to say, what I really mean. Imagine a two word ripper and it is not 'Let's Dance.'

Do I want a Penis Enlargement? "H.C." I don't even have a Penis. If I did, I definitely wouldn't buy anything over the internet. I'm one of those naturalists...but if I were a male and turned out to be a 'minimalist'...maybe someone with bad eyes and a large imagination would love me anyhow. On that note, I don't want my breasts enlarged either! And I've not missed any loving in that department, either.

Why does this bombardment continue? Or better yet....why does it even exist? How many senseless, hopeless, worthless people are out there? I mean the rogues who sell the products. Yee gads, normal people with at least an IQ of 70 would know this is all pure junk. Wouldn't they?

Sure I can report it all to Spam, and I do, but it keeps on flowing downstream like the muddy Mississippi. A terrible flood this past week. Overflowing. Flotsam and jetsam up to my thighs.

What I'd like to do is send all this junk back to the originators.

Is there some genius, techy, hacker out there who can figure out a way to volley this crap right back to the senders? Jam their systems. Put them out of business. Come on, let's figure out a way to sabotage these small penised, bad debtors, stuffed colons, undereducated internet abusers. Come on, we can win this battle. Toss around some ideas. Let's get rid of the junk!

Big Names...Bad Books...

Have you noticed the trend: Big name authors are writing stories out of their successful genres. Why? It generates a multitude of sales because of name recognition. I fell for the scheme recently. Bought a book by David Baldacci...who I believe is an excellent writer and has, in the past, created interesting, insightful stories loaded with believable characters who take crime and suspense to the federal level. I bought 'his' latest work...Summer something...it's so bad I don't remember the title. And I don't want to remember the title. This story is totally weak, amateurish: the plot--if you can call it that--floats like a wet donut scraped off a plate at the bottom of the sink. Granted it's tissue intended...as it tries to compete with the Nicholas Sparks hearty achey stories. But it falls so flat and far from a substance story that you begin to believe Baldacci had a ghost writer pecking away at his keyboard. Here's the jest of it: Dying man saying goodbye to his family, wife dies instead, he makes miraculous recovery and moves his family to the beach to recover. Hmmmm...maybe not a bad idea. But beyond the back cover blurb, you get nothing but idle chatter, weak characters and predictable, meaningless dialogue. Here's what I purpose: Big name writers---take the money and run. Don't ruin your reputation on junk writing just to get a book out to market. It reminds me of 'this little piggy went to market' ... the successful one stayed home. Wasn't fried for bacon. Didn't disappoint his audience, didn't cause a negative rebound in his sales. I'd be hard pressed to buy Baldacci again...his next novel would have to get such high reviews and publicity coverage before I'd put my foot in the water. Beach story...blah, blah, blah....bypass "....Summer....something..." and pick up a Harlequin romance. You'll be pleased by your decision.

A funny book to read...

Title: The Herring in the Library
Author: L.C. Tyler
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
ISBN: 978-1-934609-76-7


If you bloody well love British humor, then the third Ethelred and Elsie mystery will be a perfect late summer beach read. L.C. Tyler pulls together the classic components of a courtly mystery in this clever who-done-it: An English estate, murder victim in a locked room, bungling detectives, and rich but rather seedy characters. The scene of the crime is a stately mahogany library with a secret door and you have another Tyler winner.

Tyler has had a fair share of Edgar nominations, but this one makes you laugh out loud. And for readers who are also writers, an agent paired with a not- so-talented writer, gives the amateur sleuths a twist that makes your lips curl with envy. She manages to sell his books between chocolate fixes and he just can’t get on with the next page of his work in progress. Together they stumble and bumble to uncover a chapter full of clues that professional detectives have been eager to ignore.

If I had reason to fault the plot line, I’d question the story within the story…but you’ve got to read the quirky book first to appreciate the critique. The prose is Monty Python priceless. Example of a disinterested fellow: “He was looking at the floor as if he had developed a sudden interest in faded, moth-eaten carpets.” Or the not- so- sad murder: “She and Dave Peart confirm they were together in the kitchen when Shagger popped his clogs.” Popped his clogs?

So why not pop your fanny in a comfy spot on the lawn, open The Herring in the Library, have an umbrella ready in case the London wets return, and read how Shagger Muntham and his un-titled wife end their dismal marriage. Murder isn’t always fun but it sometimes leads to happy endings.

What ends up in trash box?

Offers this week included (but not limited to) a change in penis size, breast size and bank account. Not necessarily related to each other if I clicked on either "opportunity". I could go back to school, get a better credit rating, buy a car, take inches off my waist, clean out my colon, remove at least ten years of wrinkles from my face. Why wouldn't I want to take criminal justice classes on line, find a new mate over 50, find a play mate under 30, secure my computer from viruses, buy enhancement drugs on line, find a lawyer, improve my vocabulary. But I was stuck on the offer to change my penis size. How would they would the size--whether it needed to be larger or smaller? How would they know if I even had a penis? Breasts...well, everyone has breasts. But I don't think they meant male breasts, now did they?
Listen, you computer hounds, you low life hackers, whackers and degenerates. Leave me and a zillion other people alone. Don't send any more garbage to my/our email box. I didn't give you the address and I don't want your junk! You are a plague---a rodent, a rat couldn't carry a worse virus. Find another hobby.
My trash box is bulging with unwanted, unsolicited crap, junk, garbage, nonsense and ...and...and...misinformation.
Listen, you low lifes....I don't have a penis and, no, I don't want to buy one!
Shouldn't there be a law against....... but them some of the trash comes from political parties. Most often from the one that I don't give a rat's ass about. So I guess my angst will have to go in another direction...ah, a perfect place. My blogspot....sorry to dump all of this on you but I sure needed the relief. My poor computer? I'm sure it will blow up one day. So full of trash penis ads, drug fixes, colon cleansers, acne removers, odor reducers that it will explode into one giant waste cloud and ride high in the sky to rain like a moonsoon over the world. I hope most of the by-product falls on the heads of the low lifes who spew this stuff across the internet. I'm hoping...whoops another bing. I've got mail. Oh my god, omg...another offer. No, damn, that part of me doesn't need to be any bigger either...no!

Mystery of the Minds

What in the world was she thinking? A mystery, maybe one that will never be solved. How many of us have had children at an early age, skipped the fun and excitement of being a unencumbered young adult into their late twenties. Eager to explore the world, dance all night....but instead accepted the responsibility of raising our child, children because of youthful, fanciful love? What was she thinking when she left her child on that fateful night? Sex, lots of it with a new boyfriend? Late night frolicking, beer, wine and tatoos? Oops...an accident...now I'm free. What was she thinking?
I have a difficult time believing Casey Anderson didn't know her actions and wrongful intent caused the death of her child. Accident or not. Of course she knew. An accident...scream, cry, demand 911 even if the child appears dead. Did she blatantly murder her child? Plot and plan...connect the dots...follow her actions. They speak more than words.
Only the most callous, disheartened person could stuff a tot's body in a laundry bag and then tape her in garbage bags. Even vicious sex offenders who take young girls and kill them leave the bodies in a fairly convenient location for others to give them a proper farewell.
Mothers kill their babies and walk away without batting an eye. Read a police report next week or the next. Infants in toilets, battery cases resulting in death Strange cases in the books about mothers caught after the second or third child died under mysterious conditions. The Smith case comes to mind where she strapped her young sons in the back seat of her car and let them drown. That mother blatantly lied, too, but didn't throw anyone, her family, under the bus. But this Casey gal had the bus going full throttle...and never lost the defiant, in your face, attitude. She never appeared to be shamed or embarrassed by her 'molester father or brother'. Smug towards her father, all smiles for the brother...for what reason?
I wonder where she'll sleep when the jail door is opened. Will she beg her parents to take her into their shattered lives after they tried everything to get at the truth? Will her brother take her in? Will one or many of her sorry-ass boyfriends sleep with her again...maybe...not much sex in a jail cell. Bella Vita. Or will she rise to notorious fame and live off the profits netted from her dead child? What is she thinking?
It's another sad day for Caley Anderson. Who's mourning her death? Not the mother...she's estactic that she's soon to be free. Not the defense lawyer who said this was all about the death penalty. Oh yes, he spoke rather eloquently, humble after the jury verdict...'she didn't murder her daughter'...but then roled into his cause to shame our system of law that allows the death penalty for heinous criminals. What was he thinking? Caley is dead...gone...and she was rendered a death penalty that no one could ever call humane.
So questions will remain...many unanswered. We are a mystery, we humanes. But for those who know how they feel about the terrible injustice for Caley Anderson, let's remember to not buy into any profit making endeavor this callous mother ventures into. Whether she blatantly, with free will, killed her daughter, we may never know but we will know she didn't do what a reasonable person would do if an accident occured. How can she sleep at night? What was she thinking?

No mystery...no mustard...

This Weiner thing is driving me nuts. Not because I dislike the media hype. No--because I'm dismayed that another high-profile rogue has turned out to be a total ass-hole; because a politician can and does what other folks in the real world can not do and pays no consequence. What drives me nuts is that so many people (his constituents...his liberal pals and confidants) say 'oh well'-- we all have sinned. Really? Okay, then let's all get down to the nitty-gritty and pay a price for our sins. Believe me, if a doc or nurse that I work with is putting their PUTZ on the internet, they are going to loose their job. Why? Credibility. Who trusts a Whacko? Yes, it's a rather important factor in real jobs. If my business world co-herts put their private parts on the internet, solictites attention from colleagues, associates or the public, they'd be out on the street. Fast. No further explanation needed. But the greater sin in the Weiner, without mustard, is the fact that this lying SOB went public with his lies. What happened to keep your mouth shut? If this Lying SOB had said 'this is a private affair' (no pun intended), then 3/4 of the sin would have been absolved. His wife and family could have dealt with the humiliation. His psychiatrist might have prescribed some pills to inhibit his impulses. But he went public and said "I didn't do this. I'm not lying...if you believe the pictures then you're the fool". To take the stance in public betrays all sense of logic. Keep thy sins to thyself. Fool. But then, in reflection, it looks like he has been counseled by none other than the contemporary master of deceit. "What is Is ...or it ain't sex if it isn't the actual act in the actual orifice." Blue dress aside, when rogues of this nature defy the standards of common decency, defy the bonds of even contemporary marriage where you can divorce, leave, negotiate if unhappiness prevails, you can only wonder what else is hidden in their secret files. Blatant lies in public, asking others to stand behind you is the weakest form of manhood. This Weiner character has no mustard on his bun. He is pure relish and if voters want that kind of narrow, superficial, cowardly character to represent them in congress then they deserve to be treated like the ketchup on the bun. An after thought for a Weiner that really has no substance. A cheap hot dog. An empty bun that tastes weak even with a splash of mustard and ketchup. Who wants that for lunch?

Winston-Salem Delight

From East to West
... and stops along the way

If you’re heading west from Raleigh-Durham area on Hwy. 40, your eyes will delight in the rainbow of colors along the roadway. It’s a refreshing change from the hectic pace of the Triangle area. The plush emerald green pines dot the main thoroughfares in this multiple research-university city and are a sharp contrast to most congested metropolitan areas.

As you leave the southern style bustle behind, you encounter fields of crimson and yellow crested poppies as you cruise along the interstate. Amongst the foliage you’ll also view what appears to be lavender holly hocks but there’s no time to stop and verify your findings before another tuff of brilliant poppies appear. These prolific blooms have taken over the once lush golden Tiger Lilly gardens that lined the freeway. The colorful display is a pleasing drama. Dogwoods and Crepe Myrtles, in what appears to be natural growth, adds to the refreshing landscape. This is one government project to be applauded. Job well done North Carolina.

As you roll closer to the Blue Ridge Mountain range, beyond Greensboro with Point Pilot in the horizon, why not take a leisure detour into Winston Salem via the 40 Business Route which intersects with north/ south 52. That route will take your directly to the vibrant downtown of a city once famous for its tobacco industry. In today’s sensitive atmosphere over lung disease and clean air, you won’t see any signs to encourage smokers to light up nor will you smell the aftermath of burnt tobacco leaves. Those ghostly smoke stacks have long been removed or disguised.
What you will see are rows of quaint houses on steep inclines, with clapboard siding and multiple window boxes as you twist and turn toward Fourth Street where the action in this historic city takes place.

We decided on a whim to spend the night at the Marriott Hotel in the heart of Winston-Salem. Southern hospitality at its best, first the doorman and then the concierge encouraged us to take a stroll down Fourth Street and suggested a restaurant for dinner other than the one within their employer’s establishment.

Needing a stretch, we embarked on a short walk with a faint mist in the warm air. Hunger would win out soon so we decided to check out the choices for dinner on the street. A busy specialty pizza stop, steak house and a coffee shop, few others that caught our eye. A crush of people walked at a more hurried pace than ours. On their way to the Stevens Center, a renovated theatre for the performing arts. The energetic crowd brushed by with smiles and nods as we casually window shopped. No hurry on our part, the art shops and menus posted by the various eateries had our attention. We came to the end of the block and found the recommended restaurant which had outdoor seating on the walkway. With the pleasant spring air, we were tempted to take a seat and relax over a glass of wine.

My companion, who always decides by convenience, surprised me with a suggestion to walk a little further. We strolled by Dioli’s Trattoria and took a quick glance at the menus. Hooked. Classic Italian. Were we in South Philly or North Carolina? We did a double take at the hustle and bustle on the other side glass door. Oh dear, how long the wait?

The Maitre’d, a charming young woman, said it might be quite a while as they were in the midst of serving a full house intent on being seated before the opening line of Oklahoma. No problem, there were two seats at the bar. Out of the busy path, we'd have a drink and enjoy the busy but cheerful atmosphere.

The first sign our choice had been on mark came with the calm and ease of the tall bartender who smiled at us as he filled drink orders in quick, rapid order, satisfied the sweet-tooth of a departing guest with delivery of Drioli’s own tiramisu , re-stocked the bar with needed glasses and assured two travelers the house merlot would make for a perfect transition into the dining room. Had angst been evident on our faces over how to relieve our road thirst? “Cielo Merlot,” he said and then offered a taste before the purchase.

Seldom does a house wine offer the same excitement as a great wine with a price that doesn’t make your heart stop. We toasted the busy bartender and looked over the menu. And realized we’d created a problem. A light dinner could easily turn into a weight watcher disaster. With a deep breath to quell our unruly urges, we decided we could be sensible and still sate our appetites. A longer walk after dinner.

The menu included several dishes with freshly made pasta, guaranteed to be served al dente and preserve its toothy bite. From small plate to dinner entrees, we thought the mix of protein, carbohydrates and aromatic olive oils would fit our likings, too. Foodies that we are, we knew by the carefully worded menu we had found a first class, nuevo Italian treasure. My seafood loving partner ordered the Grilled Salmon Piccata entrée served atop a generous but not chain store size serving of risotto Milanese. A side of fresh, bright green asparagus not only added color but balanced the sharp flavor of the piccata sauce. "Wonderful," he said. He offered one small bite and I concurred it was a melt in your mouth delight.

Several small plates caught my attention and I vacillated between a pure vegetarian plate or a serving of protein to balance the carbohydrates from Dioli’s daily made breadsticks which we enjoyed with the rich, velvet Cielo Merlot. Thin and crisp, the sticks were delicately flavored with rosemary and a little garlic salt. I remembered perfect meatballs from my South Philly days and ordered the small plate of homemade meatballs smothered in Dioli’s house marinara and parmesan cheese. They were, undoubtedly, the lightest and best I’ve ever eaten. Three per serving—just enough to feel I hadn’t shorted myself by ordering an appetizer. What made the texture and taste so perfect? Did the chef blend the right amount of veal with sirloin and perhaps added pork tenderloin for perfect balance? The marinara sauce—a full bodied taste of roasted red tomatoes, perhaps cherry, grape or Roman, blended with olive oil, onions and garlic? Perfect texture and delicious doesn’t do justice to the taste provided. My side, too, came from the small plate list. Grilled asparagus wrapped in pancetta and served with a red bell pepper pesto took my breath away.

We savored the wholesome tastes and finished the carafe of Cielo. When we complimented our hostess and she invited us to return. That we will. I've planned my next foray into dining heaven--the Eggplant Involtini filled with fresh ricotta cheese and grilled vegetable pesto. Something tells me, though, I can't go wrong with whatever choice is made in the comfortable setting. My partner…well, he’ll go for the Salmon again but plans to bypass lunch and try the small plate Ricotta Gnocchi to add to his feast.

Did we succumb to Dioli’s fresh prepared desserts? Tiramisu and other chocolate and crème delights were as tempting as another serving of the breadsticks but we passed this time around. We’ll give up breakfast on our next visit so we don’t miss out the best of the best. Dioli’s deserves the highest rating for its service, ambiance and food. Back on the road soon. Route 52 into the heart of Winston-Salem and great dining.