WHY CAN'T I FIND A GOOD BOOK?
It's getting harder and harder for me to finish reading a novel.
What happens is, I read a book's provocative blurb telling me that this MIND-PARALYZING BOOK FOR THE AGES will scare me out of my shorts or something, but then I find out after reading the first twenty pages that I don't care what happens to the hero; and I sure don't want to know why the elms are creaking. I toss it aside.
And I've given up paying attention to novels with blurbs that scream LOCK THE DOORS BEFORE YOU START READING THIS BODICE-RIPPING BLOCKBUSTER!
At the library I can spend half an hour at the racks reading blurbs about the latest literary sensations, hoping to find a novel written by a wise and wonderful author who will keep me up all night reading a SPRAWLING PAGE-TURNER in a breathless rush to the astounding conclusion.
But how often does the book deliver? Not very often to me.
Nowadays, publishers know that if they want to sell a book they've got to insert a blurb warning the reader to OPEN THIS MONSTER BESTSELLER IF YOU DARE!
Even how-to books on plumbing promise to GRAB YOU BY THE THROAT and drag you into a maze of international underground intrigue.
I won't even check out a library paperback whose blurb doesn't at least claim that it will tell me what my auto mechanic hopes I'll never find out, while also promising to reveal the secrets of the universe as shown in the secret writings of the ancient ones who really, really built the pyramids.
ANOTHER MIND-BLOWING TELL-ALL BOOK
Vince Johnson
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Saturday, June 25, 2005
VINCE'S JOURNAL
June 25, 2005
Here's looking at you Bogie.
HOME IMPROVEMENT
Went up on the roof to unplug the gutters and down spouts around my garage apartment. Finally. That is so typical of me. It quit raining a month ago so now when the gutters aren't needed, that's when I go up there to fix it. But heck, you wouldn't expect met to go up there in the rain, would you.
The ladder was real rickety so I had to be careful as hell, and it's too short so I couldn't get a flat angle for climbing up. Well, I don't mean to explain the universe to you, but when a ladder is too upright it keeps wanting to fall over backwards and you have to hug it close and bump your nose on the rungs. Typical of the kind of equipment I have to work with around here.
It was in the 80s today but reasonably cool down on the ground in the shade. But when I got up on the roof (it's flat), the composition roofing matrial was so hot I burned my hands and knees getting off the ladder and pulling myself up. I had to stand up quick.
Had to jam a hose down the spouts to get them unplugged. At least nwo I'm ready for the next rainy season.
GOLF
Any 79 year old grandma can hit a ball farther than I can. There is some trick to swinging the club that I have never been able to figure out.
Jack Nicklaus says, all you do is make your swing and let the ball get in the way. He says he keeps his hands passive and just swings the club down and out. What a load of bull. He's just not telling the secret.
Arnold Palmer used to say, just take the club straight back and then pull down with the left hand. Horse feathers! You ever see Arnie hit a golf ball? I will guarantee you he does not take the club straight back and then pull down with the left hand. At the age of 76 he still winds up and hits the the bejabbers out of the ball.
Tiger Wood's dad used to tell him to take the club back with the left shoulder. Look, Ma, no hands!
John Daly says, GRIP IT AND RIP IT!
Now there's some advice anybody can understand. Simple, you know? But that doesn't work for me either. What I want to know is, how do you swing a club so you don't top the ball, hit behind the ball, scuff it, sklaff it, shank it, whiff it?
GARDENING
The tomato plants are finally beginning to produce some baby little green marbles. Well, I should hope so, after we hauled in two truckloads of horse manure. a couple yards of sawdust, a few bucikets of ashes from blackberry bushes and oak tree limbs. And coffee grounds and banana peels. Can't for get those.
And do you know that if a compost pile is working right it generates heat? I could feel the heat from that pile when it was aging over the last year or so.
PETS
My sister's pug. Every morning that little mutt races over to my apartment, which is separate from the main house. Pug knows that she can always count on getting a snack from me, usually a hot dog. Pugs are natural clowns. Her favorite demonstration of joy at the prospect of food is to race around in circles until exhausted.
MAC TALK
Finally figured out how to post fotos to my blog.
MEDICAL DISASTERS
Hey, over the last couple weeks Ive gone on a weight lifting program. Trying to ward off osetoporosis. For barbells I use two 25-pound slugs of linotype metal, which I originallly intended to use for casting bullets for my .44 mag and the .45 ACP. Linotype metal is better than pure lead, because lead is too soft and messes up the lands and grooves of the barrel.
AND A FEW MORE WISE-ASS REMARKS
Hey, I got one of those portable steam cleaners. Works great in cleaning all the little nooks and crannies in the refrigerator. Great for the microwave too. Doesn't work as well on the stove as demonstrated on TV. Hard to get rid of the black stuff around the electric burners.
That's all, kids.
See you later
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
June 25, 2005
Here's looking at you Bogie.
HOME IMPROVEMENT
Went up on the roof to unplug the gutters and down spouts around my garage apartment. Finally. That is so typical of me. It quit raining a month ago so now when the gutters aren't needed, that's when I go up there to fix it. But heck, you wouldn't expect met to go up there in the rain, would you.
The ladder was real rickety so I had to be careful as hell, and it's too short so I couldn't get a flat angle for climbing up. Well, I don't mean to explain the universe to you, but when a ladder is too upright it keeps wanting to fall over backwards and you have to hug it close and bump your nose on the rungs. Typical of the kind of equipment I have to work with around here.
It was in the 80s today but reasonably cool down on the ground in the shade. But when I got up on the roof (it's flat), the composition roofing matrial was so hot I burned my hands and knees getting off the ladder and pulling myself up. I had to stand up quick.
Had to jam a hose down the spouts to get them unplugged. At least nwo I'm ready for the next rainy season.
GOLF
Any 79 year old grandma can hit a ball farther than I can. There is some trick to swinging the club that I have never been able to figure out.
Jack Nicklaus says, all you do is make your swing and let the ball get in the way. He says he keeps his hands passive and just swings the club down and out. What a load of bull. He's just not telling the secret.
Arnold Palmer used to say, just take the club straight back and then pull down with the left hand. Horse feathers! You ever see Arnie hit a golf ball? I will guarantee you he does not take the club straight back and then pull down with the left hand. At the age of 76 he still winds up and hits the the bejabbers out of the ball.
Tiger Wood's dad used to tell him to take the club back with the left shoulder. Look, Ma, no hands!
John Daly says, GRIP IT AND RIP IT!
Now there's some advice anybody can understand. Simple, you know? But that doesn't work for me either. What I want to know is, how do you swing a club so you don't top the ball, hit behind the ball, scuff it, sklaff it, shank it, whiff it?
GARDENING
The tomato plants are finally beginning to produce some baby little green marbles. Well, I should hope so, after we hauled in two truckloads of horse manure. a couple yards of sawdust, a few bucikets of ashes from blackberry bushes and oak tree limbs. And coffee grounds and banana peels. Can't for get those.
And do you know that if a compost pile is working right it generates heat? I could feel the heat from that pile when it was aging over the last year or so.
PETS
My sister's pug. Every morning that little mutt races over to my apartment, which is separate from the main house. Pug knows that she can always count on getting a snack from me, usually a hot dog. Pugs are natural clowns. Her favorite demonstration of joy at the prospect of food is to race around in circles until exhausted.
MAC TALK
Finally figured out how to post fotos to my blog.
MEDICAL DISASTERS
Hey, over the last couple weeks Ive gone on a weight lifting program. Trying to ward off osetoporosis. For barbells I use two 25-pound slugs of linotype metal, which I originallly intended to use for casting bullets for my .44 mag and the .45 ACP. Linotype metal is better than pure lead, because lead is too soft and messes up the lands and grooves of the barrel.
AND A FEW MORE WISE-ASS REMARKS
Hey, I got one of those portable steam cleaners. Works great in cleaning all the little nooks and crannies in the refrigerator. Great for the microwave too. Doesn't work as well on the stove as demonstrated on TV. Hard to get rid of the black stuff around the electric burners.
That's all, kids.
See you later
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
Friday, June 24, 2005
FAMOUS LINES FROM WESTERN MOVIES
The deathless quotes, below, are found at least once in every Western movie ever made. And I could always depend on them loafers in front of the saloon to make fun of the Kid's boots two, three times.
Course when they did that he always knocked 'em in the horse trough. They never learn.
Here goes some famous old lines of dialog.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
FIRST OLD TIMER: Say! I just seen that new ribbon clerk out in the alley strappin' on both guns!
SECOND OLD TIMER: You sure? Why, Ace Hanlon and his owlhoot gang will shoot that greenhorn to rags!
===============================
FIDDLEFOOT: I'm sorry Miss Simpson, but when my feet get to itchin' like this, I get a hankerin to find out what's on t'other side of the mountain, and I just plain got to light a shuck and go see.
MISS SIMPSON: Will you return to us one day, Clint? We all love you so, since you saved our old homestead and slapped the face of that filthy-minded yahoo who dared to swat me on the butt!
FIDDLEFOOT: Why shore, Miss Simpson. In five or ten years when my wanderin' days are over I'll prob'ly come driftin' back into town and bring you a pretty!
===============================
DIAMOND LIL (to Clint): You know what you are? Just trash -- a saddle tramp! I seen your kind in this high class establishment of mine a hundred times -- trail dust in your ears, a worn out six-gun on your hip, and six bits in your pocket. And now you wanta go upstairs with one of my girls? I don't think so!
===============================
TEXAS KID: One day, Miss Lily, folks will build a shining city out here in this wilderness. We'll have a school, a gen'ral store -- maybe even a billiard parlor! And decent men like me will be able to walk these streets unchallenged by every gunslinging young hellion who thinks he's quick on the draw!
MISS LILY: Oh Kid, I'm so afraid that one day a fast gun will show up quicker'n you. You'll be layin' out in the street all wrapped up in white linen, deader'n hell!
TEXAS KID: Don't you worry about that virtual impossibility!
===============================
KID VINCE: You go for that gun and I'll kill ya!
===============================
I'm sendin you home to your Mom in a box, Kid.
===============================
I tell ya, I only heard one shot --- like one long roar -- but when Black Bart went down kickin' in the dirt he had his gun in his hand and three holes in his Bull Durham tag. The Kid was fast, real fast!
===============================
Mr. Calhoun, I know you're a big important cattleman around these parts, but you tell your man there to quit trying to side-step his hoss around behind me or a couple of you are going down kickin' in the dirt real quick, and you'll be first!
===============================
QUIRT: Where am I? (groan!) How long I been layin here in this bed?
CLEMENTINE; Three days, Kid. Here, take a spoonful of this broth.
QUIRT: (Lifts the covers) Hey! Where's my boots? Who undressed me?
CLEMENTINE: There was no one else. I had to do it myself. I've lived alone in this cabin ever since Ace Hanlon and his gang killed my grandpap, set fire to the barn, shot my night horse, and dragged my clean chemise through the mud.
Boy those were some great lines, I tell ya!
Vince
The deathless quotes, below, are found at least once in every Western movie ever made. And I could always depend on them loafers in front of the saloon to make fun of the Kid's boots two, three times.
Course when they did that he always knocked 'em in the horse trough. They never learn.
Here goes some famous old lines of dialog.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
FIRST OLD TIMER: Say! I just seen that new ribbon clerk out in the alley strappin' on both guns!
SECOND OLD TIMER: You sure? Why, Ace Hanlon and his owlhoot gang will shoot that greenhorn to rags!
===============================
FIDDLEFOOT: I'm sorry Miss Simpson, but when my feet get to itchin' like this, I get a hankerin to find out what's on t'other side of the mountain, and I just plain got to light a shuck and go see.
MISS SIMPSON: Will you return to us one day, Clint? We all love you so, since you saved our old homestead and slapped the face of that filthy-minded yahoo who dared to swat me on the butt!
FIDDLEFOOT: Why shore, Miss Simpson. In five or ten years when my wanderin' days are over I'll prob'ly come driftin' back into town and bring you a pretty!
===============================
DIAMOND LIL (to Clint): You know what you are? Just trash -- a saddle tramp! I seen your kind in this high class establishment of mine a hundred times -- trail dust in your ears, a worn out six-gun on your hip, and six bits in your pocket. And now you wanta go upstairs with one of my girls? I don't think so!
===============================
TEXAS KID: One day, Miss Lily, folks will build a shining city out here in this wilderness. We'll have a school, a gen'ral store -- maybe even a billiard parlor! And decent men like me will be able to walk these streets unchallenged by every gunslinging young hellion who thinks he's quick on the draw!
MISS LILY: Oh Kid, I'm so afraid that one day a fast gun will show up quicker'n you. You'll be layin' out in the street all wrapped up in white linen, deader'n hell!
TEXAS KID: Don't you worry about that virtual impossibility!
===============================
KID VINCE: You go for that gun and I'll kill ya!
===============================
I'm sendin you home to your Mom in a box, Kid.
===============================
I tell ya, I only heard one shot --- like one long roar -- but when Black Bart went down kickin' in the dirt he had his gun in his hand and three holes in his Bull Durham tag. The Kid was fast, real fast!
===============================
Mr. Calhoun, I know you're a big important cattleman around these parts, but you tell your man there to quit trying to side-step his hoss around behind me or a couple of you are going down kickin' in the dirt real quick, and you'll be first!
===============================
QUIRT: Where am I? (groan!) How long I been layin here in this bed?
CLEMENTINE; Three days, Kid. Here, take a spoonful of this broth.
QUIRT: (Lifts the covers) Hey! Where's my boots? Who undressed me?
CLEMENTINE: There was no one else. I had to do it myself. I've lived alone in this cabin ever since Ace Hanlon and his gang killed my grandpap, set fire to the barn, shot my night horse, and dragged my clean chemise through the mud.
Boy those were some great lines, I tell ya!
Vince
Thursday, June 23, 2005
VINCE'S JOURNAL
20005
IF I WERE KING
The first thing I'd do is eliminate all the BS on TV commercials. For example, we've all seen the nonsensical ad exhorting us to get a high school diploma so that during our lifetime we can earn $200,000 more than some poor sap without a diploma.
But what good is a diploma when so many kids getting out of high school can't read or write? No amount of instruction on computer skills can make up for the inability to write plain English. It is just a fatal ignorance.
Saturday, January 08, 2005
VINCE'S JOURNAL
IF I WERE KING
I would make TV news producers admit that they are unhappy unless they have a big juicy holocaust as their lead story on the five o'clock news. I would make news anchors stop exaggerating every forest fire story with tales of enormous destruction of buildings which turn out to be incinerated chicken coops and an old tool shed or two.
WEATHER (You Can't Win Dept.)
Hey, it wasn't raining when I woke up this morning. But the forecast is for more heavy wind and rain. I wonder if the farmers are happy with all the water in their fields. Of course it doesn't matter what the weather is, some farmers always complain about destroyed crops and water-damaged almonds. I guess they're right. Timing is everything. However, when the timing for rain or sun is just right and the crops grow like mad, that's bad news too. Then the market is glutted and the price falls out the bottom. Pity the poor farmers.
GOLF
My new swing quit working. It is a mystery why I can't maintain a consistent swing. 'Course even pros have trouble at times. A pro can shoot 75 one day and 65 the next. It must all be feel.
GARDENING
One of the old privet trees fell over in the storm last night -- missed everything, did no damage. It's the first lucky break I've had all year. The onions and garlic. as far as I can see from the shoots above ground, are undamaged by all the rain. Parsley is doing well and even spreading out. And hey, the back lawn is coming up thick and green. That's a mystery since I neglected the back lawn all summer, just let it turn brown. It must be some drought resistant grass planted by the former owners of this property 30 years ago. Good on them!
PETS
Tommy the cat is disoriented in this stormy weather. He's frightened of the wind, frightened of things that fall over on the deck and go BOOM! He's frightened when the camp robbers come down to eat the birdseed I put out for them. He still hides out in the garage at night and takes his meals there. Nothing is more bedraggled than a bedraggled cat. Sufferin Succotash! I'd be glad to let that cat inside the house to get warmed up but he is afraid -- and rightly so -- that if I ever catch him I'll throw him in the sausage grinder! His mom was wild and I guess she taught Tommy the most important survival trick: don't trust those humans!
SEXUAL PREFERENCE (I'm still in favor of it)
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
IF I WERE KING
I would make TV news producers admit that they are unhappy unless they have a big juicy holocaust as their lead story on the five o'clock news. I would make news anchors stop exaggerating every forest fire story with tales of enormous destruction of buildings which turn out to be incinerated chicken coops and an old tool shed or two.
WEATHER (You Can't Win Dept.)
Hey, it wasn't raining when I woke up this morning. But the forecast is for more heavy wind and rain. I wonder if the farmers are happy with all the water in their fields. Of course it doesn't matter what the weather is, some farmers always complain about destroyed crops and water-damaged almonds. I guess they're right. Timing is everything. However, when the timing for rain or sun is just right and the crops grow like mad, that's bad news too. Then the market is glutted and the price falls out the bottom. Pity the poor farmers.
GOLF
My new swing quit working. It is a mystery why I can't maintain a consistent swing. 'Course even pros have trouble at times. A pro can shoot 75 one day and 65 the next. It must all be feel.
GARDENING
One of the old privet trees fell over in the storm last night -- missed everything, did no damage. It's the first lucky break I've had all year. The onions and garlic. as far as I can see from the shoots above ground, are undamaged by all the rain. Parsley is doing well and even spreading out. And hey, the back lawn is coming up thick and green. That's a mystery since I neglected the back lawn all summer, just let it turn brown. It must be some drought resistant grass planted by the former owners of this property 30 years ago. Good on them!
PETS
Tommy the cat is disoriented in this stormy weather. He's frightened of the wind, frightened of things that fall over on the deck and go BOOM! He's frightened when the camp robbers come down to eat the birdseed I put out for them. He still hides out in the garage at night and takes his meals there. Nothing is more bedraggled than a bedraggled cat. Sufferin Succotash! I'd be glad to let that cat inside the house to get warmed up but he is afraid -- and rightly so -- that if I ever catch him I'll throw him in the sausage grinder! His mom was wild and I guess she taught Tommy the most important survival trick: don't trust those humans!
SEXUAL PREFERENCE (I'm still in favor of it)
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
Friday, January 07, 2005
VINCE'S JOURNAL II
January 7, 2005
IF I WERE KING
The first thing I'd do is eliminate all the BS on TV commercials. For example, we've all seen the nonsensical ad exhorting us to get a high school diploma so that during our lifetime we can earn @200,000 more than some poor sap without a diploma.
But what good is a diploma when kids getting out of high school can't read or write? No amount of instruction on computer skills can make up for the inability to write plain English. It is just a fatal ignorance.
There should be some kind of a practical test for teenagers to take which will demonstrate whether or not they have been educated enough to read and understand an instruction manual telling them how to do some useful job for which employers will pay them a salary.
You don't need a diploma in your pocket to follow the instructions in a manual.
WEATHER
No rain for three days. But I'm not worried yet. Precipitation totals stand at about 150 percent of normal. Cold mornings.
GOLF
I have learned that when I'm missing shots, half hitting the ball, topping the ball, those errors are generally caused by quitting on the swing. I believe that the reason so many of us can't drive the ball down the middle with adequate power is because we steer the club into the ball, trying to make sure we don't whiff it.
But the hit happens too fast for such a deliberate swing. It is much more effective to follow Jack Nicklaus' advice -- just make your swing, and let the ball be an incidental object that lies in the path of the club. That way you won't quit on the shot, even on short pitches. The hit is made with the right hand, whipping the club through the ball.
GARDENING
The next door neighbor rooted out a very large stand of blackberry bushes in his backyard and burned them. Made quite a pile of ashes. Nephew Jim's been working in our yard. He went over and got permission to haul the ashes over to the compost pile in our backyard. We now have a huge compost pile, chock full of horse manure, rotting leaves, wood chips, top soil, coffee grounds, banana peels -- you name it. It's all set for the spring vegetable garden.
And do you know that if a compost pile is working right it generates heat? I can feel the heat from that pile. The rising heat is even visible in the cold morning air.
PETS
My sister's pug. Every morning that little mutt races over to my apartment, which is separate from the main house. Pug knows that she can always count on getting a snack from me, usually a hot dog. Pugs are natural comedians. Her favorite demonstration of joy at the prospect of food is to race around in circles until exhausted.
MAC TALK
The damn mail program went down. Couldn't send, couldn't receive. I called up the internet server for advice. Two technicians had different opinions, advising me to do this and that. One kept asking me if I had the authorization set right. Another thought that perhaps my computer was busted. Nothing worked. Finally I clicked authorization OFF so that no authorization was required. Problem solved.
MEDICAL DISASTERS
Went to the doc for a checkup. As an afterthought I asked him for a flu shot. Sure, he said, no problem. I guess the flu shot shortage is over.
AND A FEW MORE WISE-ASS REMARKS
Hey, I got one of those portable steam cleaners. Works great in cleaning all the little nooks and crannies in the refrigerator. Great for the microwave too. Doesn't work as well on the stove as demonstrated on TV. Hard to get rid of the black stuff around the electric burners.
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
January 7, 2005
IF I WERE KING
The first thing I'd do is eliminate all the BS on TV commercials. For example, we've all seen the nonsensical ad exhorting us to get a high school diploma so that during our lifetime we can earn @200,000 more than some poor sap without a diploma.
But what good is a diploma when kids getting out of high school can't read or write? No amount of instruction on computer skills can make up for the inability to write plain English. It is just a fatal ignorance.
There should be some kind of a practical test for teenagers to take which will demonstrate whether or not they have been educated enough to read and understand an instruction manual telling them how to do some useful job for which employers will pay them a salary.
You don't need a diploma in your pocket to follow the instructions in a manual.
WEATHER
No rain for three days. But I'm not worried yet. Precipitation totals stand at about 150 percent of normal. Cold mornings.
GOLF
I have learned that when I'm missing shots, half hitting the ball, topping the ball, those errors are generally caused by quitting on the swing. I believe that the reason so many of us can't drive the ball down the middle with adequate power is because we steer the club into the ball, trying to make sure we don't whiff it.
But the hit happens too fast for such a deliberate swing. It is much more effective to follow Jack Nicklaus' advice -- just make your swing, and let the ball be an incidental object that lies in the path of the club. That way you won't quit on the shot, even on short pitches. The hit is made with the right hand, whipping the club through the ball.
GARDENING
The next door neighbor rooted out a very large stand of blackberry bushes in his backyard and burned them. Made quite a pile of ashes. Nephew Jim's been working in our yard. He went over and got permission to haul the ashes over to the compost pile in our backyard. We now have a huge compost pile, chock full of horse manure, rotting leaves, wood chips, top soil, coffee grounds, banana peels -- you name it. It's all set for the spring vegetable garden.
And do you know that if a compost pile is working right it generates heat? I can feel the heat from that pile. The rising heat is even visible in the cold morning air.
PETS
My sister's pug. Every morning that little mutt races over to my apartment, which is separate from the main house. Pug knows that she can always count on getting a snack from me, usually a hot dog. Pugs are natural comedians. Her favorite demonstration of joy at the prospect of food is to race around in circles until exhausted.
MAC TALK
The damn mail program went down. Couldn't send, couldn't receive. I called up the internet server for advice. Two technicians had different opinions, advising me to do this and that. One kept asking me if I had the authorization set right. Another thought that perhaps my computer was busted. Nothing worked. Finally I clicked authorization OFF so that no authorization was required. Problem solved.
MEDICAL DISASTERS
Went to the doc for a checkup. As an afterthought I asked him for a flu shot. Sure, he said, no problem. I guess the flu shot shortage is over.
AND A FEW MORE WISE-ASS REMARKS
Hey, I got one of those portable steam cleaners. Works great in cleaning all the little nooks and crannies in the refrigerator. Great for the microwave too. Doesn't work as well on the stove as demonstrated on TV. Hard to get rid of the black stuff around the electric burners.
-------------------------
NOW HERE'S THE REAL REASON FOR MY JOURNAL
I PLAN TO GET RICH
It's not a complicated plan.
Just a simple little concept.
THE WHOLE IDEA IS TO GET YOU TO MAKE ME RICH!
GET IT?
See, to make me rich, all you have to do is:
1) Get on PayPal and
2) Email me five or ten bucks --->> vgjohnson@wizwire.com
Simple, isn't it? Yet so incredibly powerful!
And each day I'll report in my journal how much cash I've taken in.
That way you get in on the excitement too!
BTW, if you don't send me any money then at least email your flimsy excuse to: vgjohnson@wizwire.com
If I think your excuse is imaginative, showing deep thought, I may let it slide.
NOW HERE'S HOW MUCH CASH I'VE COLLECTED SO FAR ---->>: $00.00.
Nothing yet? What is happening?! This is unbelievable! I mean, come on, gang! Puhleeze! How tough can this be?
Now here's YOUR Payoff:
You Get to Read All the Exciting Stuff in My Daily Journal! (while thousands cheer).
Is that a deal or what?
Okay, let's get this thing rolling.
Don't be a slacker.
Vince
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
MY LIFE ... AND WHY I DID IT
By Vince Johnson
I grew up around Palo Alto and Los Altos, Calif. I've always been a writer. In the fifth grade I wrote fairy tales. I always had the queen flying into a rage, and of course I always threw in a couple ogres to leap out at people.
Since I spent my youth developing a keen eye and a steady hand you may be surprised that I did not make my fortune playing nine-ball. But alas, I could not make those thin cuts in the side pocket.
And upon learning of my ability to ride a bike backwards you may also be surprised to find out that I never joined the circus. I tell myself that it may not be too late yet, in case this writing dodge doesn't pan out.
At Paly High I went out for boxing, swimming, football, baseball, rassling. Good in everything, a standout in nothing, that was me. I wrote sports for the school paper.
At Paly High I fell desperately in love with Sue Fontaine and stole her away from Bud Larsen. I am still looking for Sue. Anybody know whatever happened to her? How about Bud?
The kids are all grown, my wife left me, the dog died. That's pretty much it. Except for the following brutally accurate biography (written by a paid hireling):
VINCE'S LIFE AND WHY HE DID IT
The Incredible Story of a Brilliant Scholar Who Against Crushing Odds Survived a Life of Unending Pain, Anguish and Rotten Breaks to achieve international fame as:
The Palo Alto Flash
Wonder Boy
Poet at Large
Invincible Pool Shark
Trick Bike Rider
Dead Shot, All Weapons
Tireless Inventive Stud
Champion Booze Fighter
Long Off the Tee
[Note that this restrained account of his life was ruthlessly checked for accuracy by Vince himself.]
The cool recitation continues:
It would be neither fair nor factual to pass over this wonder boy with a mere catalogue of his glittering accomplishments.
In a scientific work of this kind it is perfectly proper to say, first, that staggered as we are by the fecundity of his loins, much more needs to be said about this unique example of how far humanity may advance in a single bound.
One has only to examine the slow progress of evolution to fully comprehend the dramatic ascension represented by Vince's sudden appearance on the scene—-this instant marvel of creation who, mere days after his birth, rocked the temples of learning with brilliant orations and mathematical calculations beyond the power of computers.
The shameful record shows that unbelieving scholars and philosophers dragged Vince's crib into their temple, and there, smirking and stroking their beards, these Great Men questioned The Babe closely on the Ancient & Royal Sciences of Reason and Logic.
Rapid fire, they barraged him with questions that had baffled the greatest minds for eons. It was a dirty trick. They meant to demolish the boy quickly and send him back to the nursery a squalling brat. "What is the meaning of Life?" they asked him, chuckling away. "Where does the sun go at night?"
But the unanswerable logic that poured from the lips of the young genius could not be denied.
Confounded, knowing that if The Babe was right their work of a lifetime was dust, they thought up even harder questions — What makes water wet? Why is winter so cold? These eternal mysteries, too, Vince polished off with sharp authority.
Advanced Swedish thinkers fell to their knees in adoration. "It's Him!" gasped one of the squareheads, gazing up in wonder at the beatific expression on Vince's innocent face.
But the Brilliant Babe didn't know he was demolishing careers. "I forgive you," he said. "You uneducated louts know not what you do."
"Nonsense!" screamed a fellow whose dark past reeked of Danish blood. "It's some kind of trick!"
Fighting for their professional lives now, overwhelmed by the Niagara of irrefutable knowledge roaring in their heads, the Great Thinkers knew they had only one way out -- they must prove that the tiny boy was a Messenger from the Devil -- was in fact the Devil!
They decided to use tactics which had worked so successfully against two earlier Swedes, Newton and Galileo -- denial and contempt, followed by torture.
"Let's see if he recants on the rack!" cried a dumb little Dane with big ears.
But months of torture merely brightened the flame of defiance in the boy's eyes. In the end, it was his torturers who cracked. Their instruments of torture, blackened and bloody, lay broken on the floor.
Finally, just to get them off his back, Vince tossed them a crumb: he revealed the secret of the golf swing. This sensational news convinced his inquisitors that he was indeed The One. They knew beyond doubt that after centuries of trial and error, after countless human rejects, evolution had culminated in sublime perfection -- Vince was here!
"Aw hell!" grumbled a scrivener. "Now I gotta rewrite all those ancient scrolls."
"Hah!" said a stone mason. "You think you got it rough. I gotta chisel all his sayings in granite!"
NOTE:
The reader must know that the historian's lot is hard. No matter how sensational the subject matter, no matter how the work cries out for elaboration, the historian must stringently restrict himself to a plain presentation of facts without comment or opinion.
In light of this literary confinement, the author may perhaps at the conclusion of this disciplined work be forgiven an editorial indulgence:
After The Coming, many thinkers of great repute tried to salvage their ruined careers by rushing into print great tomes claiming that they always knew the Johnsons could do it and, in fact, had come close to a Vince in centuries past when they squeezed out two earlier Swedes, namely, Einstein and Solomon..
But it was no use. Although they begged for mercy the Great Thinkers could not erase the thousands of lectures in which they had inflicted on innocent students the false theory that evolution was a random process of selection and rejection, and that in a chaotic universe no perfect human being could ever be produced.
What could they say? Vince was here.
Later they found out he was a hell of a golfer too. ##
---------------------------------------
Copyright 2000 Vince Johnson
www.vincejohnson.net
vgjohnson@wizwire.com
By Vince Johnson
I grew up around Palo Alto and Los Altos, Calif. I've always been a writer. In the fifth grade I wrote fairy tales. I always had the queen flying into a rage, and of course I always threw in a couple ogres to leap out at people.
Since I spent my youth developing a keen eye and a steady hand you may be surprised that I did not make my fortune playing nine-ball. But alas, I could not make those thin cuts in the side pocket.
And upon learning of my ability to ride a bike backwards you may also be surprised to find out that I never joined the circus. I tell myself that it may not be too late yet, in case this writing dodge doesn't pan out.
At Paly High I went out for boxing, swimming, football, baseball, rassling. Good in everything, a standout in nothing, that was me. I wrote sports for the school paper.
At Paly High I fell desperately in love with Sue Fontaine and stole her away from Bud Larsen. I am still looking for Sue. Anybody know whatever happened to her? How about Bud?
The kids are all grown, my wife left me, the dog died. That's pretty much it. Except for the following brutally accurate biography (written by a paid hireling):
VINCE'S LIFE AND WHY HE DID IT
The Incredible Story of a Brilliant Scholar Who Against Crushing Odds Survived a Life of Unending Pain, Anguish and Rotten Breaks to achieve international fame as:
The Palo Alto Flash
Wonder Boy
Poet at Large
Invincible Pool Shark
Trick Bike Rider
Dead Shot, All Weapons
Tireless Inventive Stud
Champion Booze Fighter
Long Off the Tee
[Note that this restrained account of his life was ruthlessly checked for accuracy by Vince himself.]
The cool recitation continues:
It would be neither fair nor factual to pass over this wonder boy with a mere catalogue of his glittering accomplishments.
In a scientific work of this kind it is perfectly proper to say, first, that staggered as we are by the fecundity of his loins, much more needs to be said about this unique example of how far humanity may advance in a single bound.
One has only to examine the slow progress of evolution to fully comprehend the dramatic ascension represented by Vince's sudden appearance on the scene—-this instant marvel of creation who, mere days after his birth, rocked the temples of learning with brilliant orations and mathematical calculations beyond the power of computers.
The shameful record shows that unbelieving scholars and philosophers dragged Vince's crib into their temple, and there, smirking and stroking their beards, these Great Men questioned The Babe closely on the Ancient & Royal Sciences of Reason and Logic.
Rapid fire, they barraged him with questions that had baffled the greatest minds for eons. It was a dirty trick. They meant to demolish the boy quickly and send him back to the nursery a squalling brat. "What is the meaning of Life?" they asked him, chuckling away. "Where does the sun go at night?"
But the unanswerable logic that poured from the lips of the young genius could not be denied.
Confounded, knowing that if The Babe was right their work of a lifetime was dust, they thought up even harder questions — What makes water wet? Why is winter so cold? These eternal mysteries, too, Vince polished off with sharp authority.
Advanced Swedish thinkers fell to their knees in adoration. "It's Him!" gasped one of the squareheads, gazing up in wonder at the beatific expression on Vince's innocent face.
But the Brilliant Babe didn't know he was demolishing careers. "I forgive you," he said. "You uneducated louts know not what you do."
"Nonsense!" screamed a fellow whose dark past reeked of Danish blood. "It's some kind of trick!"
Fighting for their professional lives now, overwhelmed by the Niagara of irrefutable knowledge roaring in their heads, the Great Thinkers knew they had only one way out -- they must prove that the tiny boy was a Messenger from the Devil -- was in fact the Devil!
They decided to use tactics which had worked so successfully against two earlier Swedes, Newton and Galileo -- denial and contempt, followed by torture.
"Let's see if he recants on the rack!" cried a dumb little Dane with big ears.
But months of torture merely brightened the flame of defiance in the boy's eyes. In the end, it was his torturers who cracked. Their instruments of torture, blackened and bloody, lay broken on the floor.
Finally, just to get them off his back, Vince tossed them a crumb: he revealed the secret of the golf swing. This sensational news convinced his inquisitors that he was indeed The One. They knew beyond doubt that after centuries of trial and error, after countless human rejects, evolution had culminated in sublime perfection -- Vince was here!
"Aw hell!" grumbled a scrivener. "Now I gotta rewrite all those ancient scrolls."
"Hah!" said a stone mason. "You think you got it rough. I gotta chisel all his sayings in granite!"
NOTE:
The reader must know that the historian's lot is hard. No matter how sensational the subject matter, no matter how the work cries out for elaboration, the historian must stringently restrict himself to a plain presentation of facts without comment or opinion.
In light of this literary confinement, the author may perhaps at the conclusion of this disciplined work be forgiven an editorial indulgence:
After The Coming, many thinkers of great repute tried to salvage their ruined careers by rushing into print great tomes claiming that they always knew the Johnsons could do it and, in fact, had come close to a Vince in centuries past when they squeezed out two earlier Swedes, namely, Einstein and Solomon..
But it was no use. Although they begged for mercy the Great Thinkers could not erase the thousands of lectures in which they had inflicted on innocent students the false theory that evolution was a random process of selection and rejection, and that in a chaotic universe no perfect human being could ever be produced.
What could they say? Vince was here.
Later they found out he was a hell of a golfer too. ##
---------------------------------------
Copyright 2000 Vince Johnson
www.vincejohnson.net
vgjohnson@wizwire.com
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