tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32381465004869122292024-03-21T17:19:00.658-07:00Socially AwkwardAn indie author shares ... stuff.Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.comBlogger172125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-79140788005605496662020-12-17T08:53:00.016-08:002020-12-17T09:40:39.267-08:00<p><b><span style="font-size: large;"> A Visit to Swanktown</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaM_c5Pg648OyLnwA5WZ_312U_UTlb9IM3ntzkyMZgQV5hKRzYo0ULIRaD3fuoDV8HcfaUrTP1AMmH9mSkMlwCHLj1lNY0OWk6soGlOH0VSYT1FAKdfiA56ueWb3WvBlVNtXQJq9ymBhI/s262/D833A0FE-6200-4C24-9E79-A9B3BD79F83F_4_5005_c.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaM_c5Pg648OyLnwA5WZ_312U_UTlb9IM3ntzkyMZgQV5hKRzYo0ULIRaD3fuoDV8HcfaUrTP1AMmH9mSkMlwCHLj1lNY0OWk6soGlOH0VSYT1FAKdfiA56ueWb3WvBlVNtXQJq9ymBhI/s0/D833A0FE-6200-4C24-9E79-A9B3BD79F83F_4_5005_c.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I put a token into the turnstile and walked behind Uncle Billy to the People Mover platform at Greektown.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Where are we going?" I asked.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"To Swanktown," said Billy.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I know the city pretty well, but that was a new one. “Swanktown? Where is that?"</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Don't worry, just follow me."</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I shrugged. "Okay ... I hope it's cheap." I was thinking about the $30 I just lost in the casino.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Don't worry, nephew ... I'm buying."</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The train pulled into the station and, after the crowded car emptied, Billy and I got on. I sat next to Billy. “How did you find out about Swanktown?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy shrugged. “By accident.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I sat quietly, watching people get on and off at DTE Plaza, Financial District, Bricktown. Suddenly, I realized that the next stop was Greektown … we’d gone around the whole loop. “I didn’t think I remembered any stops at a ‘Swanktown’, Uncle Billy.” </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No sooner did the words leave my mouth than the train slowed down and the computerized voice announced, “Next stop, Swanktown.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I looked around and the half-dozen people in the car along with Billy and they seemed oblivious, thumbing on their cell phones or staring vacantly as the train eased to a stop. The doors opened automatically and the voice said, “Swanktown.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy stood up and said, “This is us.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I nodded stupidly and followed Billy through the door. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A man and women, and dressed to the nines and smiling and laughing to each other, waited for us to pass and then boarded the train, the doors closed and the train pulled away, leaving us alone on the platform.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on, nephew.” Billy walked toward the stairs that led down to street level.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As soon as I stepped off the final stair, I realized I was somewhere I’d never been. I didn’t recognize street names … we were standing on the corner of Despair and Hope … and everything had a kind of retro vibe. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on … cars looked modern, passersby looked normal, but slightly hipper than usual … architecture was the usual mix of old and modern, but the lighting was softer and more flattering.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where are we, Uncle?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Swanktown, Nephew.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But where is that?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy smiled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it … just go with the flow.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The light changed and he started crossing Despair. I followed dumbly as we cruised down Hope toward a flashing marque for the Hotel Alto Nido.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy opened the door for me and stepped into an art-deco lobby of a hotel that was old and slightly musty smelling, but still seemed clean and neat. Billy stepped in behind and lead me to the elevators.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The door to the middle car open and we stepped in. It was surprising to see an operator, but the car was old and still had the manual controls. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">“Well, nice to see you Mr. Tysinger,” he said to Billy.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy nodded. “Good to see you, Robert. How’s business?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Up and down,” laughed Robert.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We all chuckled as we the ascended to the top floor. Reaching our destination, the doors opened to the Royal Palm Court Lounge. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The scene was, well, swinging. Muted lighting casting a purple hue on people arrayed along the mahogany bar or clustered in small groups around tables that dotted the main floor, adorned with several large palm trees. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In the far corner, under one very large palm, was a huge, Borsendorf piano, occupied by a guy in a white shirt, dark green stripped vest and topped with a black, snap-brim fedora, crooning something about a martini being so cold you could ice skate on it … sounded cool, literally.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s Sly Crooner,” said Billy. “A very cool player.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly looked up from his keyboard and nodded in our direction.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy waved and Sly waved back, indicating us to come toward him.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come on … I want you to meet Sly.” </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You know him?” </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy ignored me and started to walk toward the piano. I shrugged and followed.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly finished his song as we approached. “Hey, Bill … how you doin’?” he said away from the microphone.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All good, Sly … how about you?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Very swank, mavajavy.” He looked at me. “Who’s your friend?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, hey, Sly, this is my nephew, Chris.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I reached over to shake Sly’s outstretched hand. “Groovy, Chris.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Nice to meet you, Mr. Crooner.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sly, my swank cat … and I know you’re swank ‘cause you’re hanging out with this very smooth operator.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I nodded, glancing at Billy with a very puzzled look on my face. He just smiled at Sly and said, “So, have you learned any Spike Jones songs, yet?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly laughed. “Not yet, my hip friend, ol’ Spike is just too ‘out there’ for moi.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’m going to bring you some of my 78’s of Spike next time, so you can pick up some of his stuff.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly laughed again. “Don’t worry, mavajavy … Sly is hip to the Spike meister … maybe someday I’ll pick up one of his grooves, and if I do, I’ll call you right away so you can saunter down to the Royal Palm Court to hear the premier.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly looked at me and winked. “So, what are you cats doing in Swanktown?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy patted me on the shoulder. “I just thought it was time that nephew here find out about the hipper side of life.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, yeah. Very chic.” Sly winked at me again. “So, what’s your groove, Chris … I mean, what do you do when you aren’t chilling in Swanktown?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mostly chasing Uncle Billy around … trying to keep him out of trouble.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly laughed. “I hear you … this cat is very slippery.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yep … only Uncle Billy could find Swanktown here in the Motor City.” I looked around at the scene in the lounge. “By the way, how is that, Sly … I mean how is there a Swanktown here?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly nodded. “Swanktown is everywhere … you just have to know how to look for it. It takes groovy cats like Billy here to find the swank vibes in their town.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I scratched my head. “You mean this scene is going on in other cities?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly just smiled. “Why don’t you cats find a seat at the bar and have Miranda brew up a couple desert-dry clear ones for you while I tickle the ivories for our very in-crowd?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy hit Sly with a high-five and motioned for me to follow him to the bar. We slid into two empty stools and within 30 seconds the tall, willowy barmaid, looking absolutely stunning in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit and four-inch heels, was leaning over the bar, cooing, “What’ll it be boys?”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I sat there, staring slack-jawed, while Uncle Billy said, “Sly recommended a couple of your famous desert-dry martini’s, Miranda … we’ll go with that.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Miranda smiled. “Why, sure, boys … coming right up.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I watched Miranda retreat to her apothecary to prepare the potions. Billy tapped me on the arm and said, “When you quit drooling, listen to Sly kick out this tune … it’s great.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I turned my attention to Sly as he played through a smooth intro on the Borsendorf and started singing a swinging song about the specialty of the house, “… the electric thrill of your very first kiss … yes, indeedy, the perfect martini.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly’s dulcet tones where fading into the atmosphere of the Royal Palm Court Lounge just as Miranda manifested the very object of his song: a pair of ice cold, desert-dry martinis, each with an olive and a twist. “Here you go, boys.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why, thank you, dear,” said Billy as he laid a twenty on the bar to pay for the libations.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Miranda smiled sweetly and pushed the bill back toward Billy. “First one is on the house for friends of Sly.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, now, this truly is a hospitable joint.” Billy picked up his drink, turned and tipped it toward Sly, who just smiled and nodded as he dug into another tune, something about easy money.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I did the same, but Sly was too deep into the tune to notice, so I just took a big sip. “Damn, that is a great drink,” I said.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, indeedy,” said Billy, “the perfect martini.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I looked around the room, taking in the variety of patrons who inhabited the place. Amongst the various colorful and groovy patrons, the most striking feature was a striking red-head and six other beautiful women who were sitting at the piano bar, sipping on their drinks and grooving on Sly’s tunes. The red-head was clearly making eye contact with a guy who was sitting at a table underneath the King Palm Tree with another dude.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Miranda saw us checking out the action and leaned across the bar. “The red-head is Estelle. She comes in here with her crew at least once a week. I’m not sure what she does, but someone said is considering something drastic, like joining a nunnery, or something.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wow, that is drastic,” I mused.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The guy she is checking out is Damian. Believe it or not, he’s an accountant … but he and his buddy there, Cosmo, cut a wide swath through the ladies of Swanktown … the Swanktown Lotharios, as it were.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I nodded and turned back to the action. Damian’s and Estelle’s gazes were locked onto each other from across the room and it obvious to anyone who noticed that they were engaged in a virtual slow tango. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Estelle’s friends seemed oblivious to the encounter, but Sly was watching with a wry grin on his face. Billy, who was taking it all in, too, said to me, “Sly is the mayor of the Royal Palm Court Lounge … he sees everything.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>What Sly saw next was Damian standing up and slowly crossing the room toward the piano bar, smoldering eyes locked onto to Estelle’s. At first, her friends were oblivious to this intimate interaction, but slowly, each in turn, stopped paying attention to her friends and tuning into the Estelle and Damian show.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Damian smoothly entered Estelle’s orbit, both now oblivious to the audience in the Royal Palm Court Lounge. Even Sly had stopped tickling the ivories to watch the courtship.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Damian was whispering into Estelle’s ear, so it’s unlikely that anyone could hear what was being said, but you didn’t have to be a detective to get the gist of it. Whatever it was, Estelle was nodding and smiling. At one point she said something back to him and they both laughed. </p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then Estelle leaned over to one of her friends and spoke to her. The friend smiled and nodded while Estelle stood up and sauntered off, arm in arm, with Damian.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sly smiled, shook his head slightly and dove into a cool rendition of “Misty”.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Did you see that, Uncle,” I said.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Do you think there was anyone in the bar who didn’t,” he replied.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I looked around the bar. To me, the only ones who seemed really interested in the scene were Sly and the six women who had been sitting with Estelle. A couple of people glanced casually at the two exiting the bar, but quickly seemed to go back to whatever they were doing. Even Sly, grinning and shaking his head slightly, went back to a nice improvisation on ‘Misty’.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Eventually, Billy downed the rest of his drink and said, “Well, nephew, you have been initiated … you are now among the swank … a cool cat … and now it is time for us to return to land of the mundane.” He waved to Miranda, who smiled and nodded.</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I followed suit and stood up with Billy, waving to Miranda, too. “This is pretty righteous, Uncle. Thanks for bringing me.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Our exit took us past the piano bar, where Estelle’s friends were deep in review of the little drama they had witnessed. But Sly noticed us and, without breaking stride on his flowing improvisation said into the mic, “Be cool, my swank mavajavies … see you on the flip side.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. I did the same and immediately felt uncool doing so. Flushed, I said to Billy, “Sly’s a cool guy.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Billy laughed. “That my newly-minted hipster, is an understatement.”</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">(Editor's note: a shoutout to our friend, musician and comedian, Geoffrey Leigh Tozer, for his permission to visit his Swankness, Sly Crooner. You can learn more about the talented, and very swank, Mr. Tozer on his Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/geoffreyleigh.tozer)</p><p style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></p>Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-42481424322987571542020-08-06T08:30:00.005-07:002020-08-06T08:38:24.355-07:00HEADWIND Gets a Makeover<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkteX13R6gF6AP8NkSXHJrL3BlA8hpRU6xdnm5d5rkbX7BnBSIURb2GgACctMugvMvZCdQBh032Pq6yzsfX94jjDWK9bas3sZ7DmBC0rR3wDGu1jpA2LCH9ngC_Xrb9khAtKkKjB9bSc/s178/3CA268C0-BEA1-4F99-9D59-7057184F6509_4_5005_c.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; text-decoration: none;">Haven't had much to talk about lately ... but just finished the new cover for HEADWIND and we're giddy with excitement! Been meaning to do this for a long time, unfortunately, procrastination is rife up here in Socially Awkward land. But we ate our oatmeal and finally got the strength to get up and do what needed to be done. We commissioned Miblart Book Cover Design to create a new one. Homie is very happy with the results ... and when he's happy, we're all happy! </span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkteX13R6gF6AP8NkSXHJrL3BlA8hpRU6xdnm5d5rkbX7BnBSIURb2GgACctMugvMvZCdQBh032Pq6yzsfX94jjDWK9bas3sZ7DmBC0rR3wDGu1jpA2LCH9ngC_Xrb9khAtKkKjB9bSc/s178/3CA268C0-BEA1-4F99-9D59-7057184F6509_4_5005_c.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharcERY8Az_EH8IsrGeN7qlmO7bKBZLMBlSs7AGoCUczjIU0RlTAARps8p56cx6FSeFl-BR9036_1gQ6aZ0xE65Zc3BmBsiv-6s01xyU92zC1nsJHTViKWr1AEu-s90XOfnUAzmwSM0fc/s0/3CA268C0-BEA1-4F99-9D59-7057184F6509_4_5005_c.jpeg" /><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCbwr5zsGw1igcJ3SH_puZSQYfQXDQGxo3kX44DuibMj5O5sbgOqd4_sXnDkkd_sQ8d4K89kKoaMQDmcCEXGv_4s9z0TWMlAW_V-sYjtQKm6ICdpBuuvHA10MooxFita1nCnRMw6x5sMw/s0/0379889C-06F8-485C-A889-C4571457234B_4_5005_c.jpeg" /><img border="0" data-original-height="178" data-original-width="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WYU89TVZiRMLrT8tZK37aPsfzBdrhSWQp4dqjDRrEnGUGPz4L-tW2RsNEYxt9fv0iW6m5v-1SzCVzfxuwSDlsoYC75Q1xstZB1bqyaNqTa4IEz4tGLMG9FhVCaSr5GeemmiHxK24gWc/s0/C165AB92-7C25-4649-B434-09A2A1A8B8C5_4_5005_c.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><br /><div><br /></div>Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-91608901024931990592020-04-04T13:11:00.002-07:002020-04-04T13:11:14.325-07:00Hello sports fans!<br />
Hope everyone is surviving the weirdness of our current situation and remaining safe and sound. Cheryl and I have just gotten off the road after chasing the sun all winter ... it was fun and relaxing. Now, we are ensconced at Jenny and Joe's (daughter and son-in-law) home in Michigan, and I'm starting to exercise my writing muscle (the big, thick one between my ears), hence this little post.<br />
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Uncle Billy is going stir-crazy ... especially since the casinos are all closed. I'm trying to keep him occupied and discouraging him from going shopping ... I try to bring him everything he needs ... but it is a challenge ... he is a piece of work.<br />
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Well, just wanted to touch base and let you know all is OK in Hudsonland ... hope your all keeping up your spirits.<br />
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Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-76493533130522621642016-06-22T12:24:00.000-07:002016-06-22T12:24:50.799-07:00<br />
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Just got a note from the folks at Kindle that by clicking the link below, one can read a little of ol' HEADWIND ... sooooo, being the good blogger that I am, I'm passing it along:<br />
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<a href="https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B004DERF0W&asin=B004DERF0W&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_BrUAxbGQM6ZNA" target="_blank">https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B004DERF0W&asin=B004DERF0W&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_BrUAxbGQM6ZNA</a>Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-66548836116015004212016-06-06T07:51:00.000-07:002016-06-06T07:51:07.903-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Holy smokes ... another two years has slipped by! I guess I've been too busy dodging traffic on the Highway of Life to notice. But it has been all good ... living' the dream after all. Uncle Billy has been making noise about moving to Vegas ... says the winters are getting to him. Can't say we wouldn't mind a little peace and quiet a around here ... but we'd miss him if he decides to venture out west. Of course, now that weather has moderated, he's been less vocal about the move ... we'll see.<br />Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-89301269454747089952014-07-11T07:51:00.000-07:002014-07-11T07:52:09.156-07:00The Dude Abides<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct0KMAtZrqobYdik_uuuqoxXyNKhpK-zRCzZbEiHOIicWlKlw6SkOn5pWlnqheiVZ_luBHFoBypanHRBQVveqNyT5qHArcwZrlievC4T5w7r2Bn8tYhG22tL6rk4uwMVpx-TkyZhB2ig/s1600/images-14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct0KMAtZrqobYdik_uuuqoxXyNKhpK-zRCzZbEiHOIicWlKlw6SkOn5pWlnqheiVZ_luBHFoBypanHRBQVveqNyT5qHArcwZrlievC4T5w7r2Bn8tYhG22tL6rk4uwMVpx-TkyZhB2ig/s1600/images-14.jpeg" height="120" width="200" /></a> Wow ... I just noticed that the last post on this blog was in April. Where do the time go??<br />
Since then Uncle Billy has been glued to the TV watching Dancing with the Stars and the ups and downs of the Tigers ... often at the same time ... good thing the Tigers have been experiencing more ups than downs, or I'd making extra runs to Manny's.<br />
I've been playing music way more that writing ... which is okay, 'cause I like making music ... but I have fun spinning yarns too ... I just go with the flow and work on whatever melts my butter on a given day. (Did I just say 'melts my butter'??)<br />
Well, sports fans, better get back to it ... busy, busy, busy ... later.Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-6125496959979339872014-04-17T07:09:00.000-07:002014-04-17T07:09:28.743-07:00And, around we go ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know you've been clamoring for updates ... okay, maybe not clamoring, but curious ... at least vaguely interested in? Annnyway ... I said I'd have something for you after opening day, which has come and gone, and the Tigers lost a close one to Cleveland last night, which caused them to slip into second place a 1/2 game behind Chicago, but I digress ... truth is that while I have nothing special to offer at the moment ... life is chugging along nicely. I've actually been getting some work done on my new novel ... emphasis on the word 'some', 'cause I still get distracted with music and, well, the Tigers, so don't hold your breath ... not that you would ... but you get the point. Back with more in ... the future.Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-39218969151744304962014-03-04T06:29:00.000-08:002014-03-04T06:30:11.805-08:00Keep on Truckin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hi there sports fans ... just a note of explanation for the absence of updates on my socially awkward life: Uncle Billy has been out of town ... some mysterious business trip with Mike Burczyk ... I don't know ... but I do know that I'm enjoying a little peace and quite which has allowed me to put a little effort into my current WIP (work in process). I don't how long this creative burst will last ... probably until Billy is back in town ... or opening day for the Tigers ... whichever comes first. Annnyyywwaayy, thought you might like to know ... or not. Sincerely, CHChristopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-38608326554096949452014-02-05T07:19:00.000-08:002014-02-05T07:19:00.778-08:00Soup or Football<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BU6tkvodHjFmIvQUU1aK8ttay9FlU3mozXbloXDMTIr4_-wleZ_Ay62Q_gabe4050CsLQjL_O69LBin2V8khzcCQW6-lYlDVV9fR5m3WL2h8jTSpZj4euv8edSlo7QyPatOJF8ckDfc/s1600/images-10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BU6tkvodHjFmIvQUU1aK8ttay9FlU3mozXbloXDMTIr4_-wleZ_Ay62Q_gabe4050CsLQjL_O69LBin2V8khzcCQW6-lYlDVV9fR5m3WL2h8jTSpZj4euv8edSlo7QyPatOJF8ckDfc/s1600/images-10.jpeg" height="149" width="200" /></a> A cheer went up around the bar as Percy Harvin returned Denver's second-half kick-off to put the Seahawks up twenty-nine to zip.<br />
"Wow ... that was amazing," said Eb.<br />
"Sure puts the Broncos in the hole," said Hank.<br />
Uncle Billy shook his head. "There goes a hundred bucks."<br />
As the furor in Reggies died down, I turned to Billy. "You put money on the game, Uncle?"<br />
"Of course ... who could watch this over-hyped spectacle if you didn't?"<br />
I looked around the table. "Hey, does anyone, besides Billy, have a bet on the game?"<br />
Several heads shook no. Hank said, "Sports are too unpredictable to bet on."<br />
"Besides," said Becky, "who has the money?"<br />
"Not me," laughed Dottie.<br />
"Who cares about the game, anyway," said Cheryl, "I just watch for the commercials ... and the half-time show."<br />
"What a bunch of light-hitters," said Billy.<br />
"Well, it's not like the Lions are in the Superbowl," I said.<br />
That brought a round of sighs and groans.<br />
"Don't get me started," said Hank.<br />
"When did you get a chance to place a bet, Uncle ... you haven't been to the Casino lately."<br />
Billy shook his head. "Didn't need to go ... Mike took my bet."<br />
"Mike Burczyk?" I asked.<br />
"How many 'Mikes' do I know?" said Billy.<br />
"Mike Burczyk is a bookie?" asked Hank.<br />
Billy snorted. "No, he's not a bookie ... he told me after bowling on Thursday that he was going to the casino on Friday and I asked him to place a bet on the game for me."<br />
Eb scratched his head. "Doesn't that kinda make him a bookie?"<br />
Billy ignored the comment. "He was sure Denver was going to win."<br />
"So was everyone else," said Dottie.<br />
"That's gotta be tough, Bill ... to lose a hundred bucks, I mean," said Hank.<br />
Billy took a drink of his beer and said, "I just hope that's all I lose."<br />
"What do you mean, Uncle?"<br />
A mild cheer went up around the bar.<br />
I swung around to look at the television screen. "What happened?"<br />
"Denver got a first down," said Becky.<br />
Billy laughed. "Gee ... I better not tear up this ticket just yet."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-18344705742649627042014-01-29T07:12:00.000-08:002014-01-29T07:12:48.151-08:00Winter Chill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbvOoJ2QcoSF-u7NjkjuHZ3ysIPGZwi-RPizFFpijeH13m6Y77asu1gaApLfmVKoH6YWVjcpxc9Q8j7CuUulMYtmwfpOa0weUmU42NnkUsKrZcg-7JkPgTVCk9c4CU9LmrAfUyCzFNaU/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsbvOoJ2QcoSF-u7NjkjuHZ3ysIPGZwi-RPizFFpijeH13m6Y77asu1gaApLfmVKoH6YWVjcpxc9Q8j7CuUulMYtmwfpOa0weUmU42NnkUsKrZcg-7JkPgTVCk9c4CU9LmrAfUyCzFNaU/s1600/images.jpeg" height="168" width="320" /></a> I got up to get myself more coffee, then paused and asked Cheryl, "Would you like another cup of tea?"<br />
"Sounds good." Cheryl held out her tea cup. Then she added, "I thought you were taking Uncle Billy to Manny's this morning."<br />
I took her cup. "He called while you were in the shower to cancel," I said as I walked into the kitchen.<br />
"Oh? How come?"<br />
I leaned around the doorway, "He said it was too damn cold to go out."<br />
"Too cold? That doesn't sound like Uncle Billy."<br />
I poured hot water into her cup. "I thought it was a little strange, too ... I mean it is freakin' cold out there, but it's not like Billy to be slowed by it."<br />
"Well, they are talking about wind chills below zero ... maybe it is getting to him."<br />
I filled my cup with coffee while the tea bag steeped in Cheryl's. "I suppose ... I told him I had to go out to run some errands anyway, so it was no trouble to me."<br />
"And he still didn't want to go?" said Cheryl.<br />
"Nope."<br />
"You don't think that there is anything else going on, do you?"<br />
"Like what?"<br />
"Like he's not feeling good or something."<br />
I took the tea bag out of her cup. "I don't think so ... do you want cream in this?"<br />
"Yes, please ... well, maybe it is just the cold."<br />
I poured a splash of cream in her cup. "Maybe ..."<br />
"But you suspect it's something else?"<br />
I picked up the cups and walked back into the dining room. I set Cheryl's tea in front of her.<br />
"Thank you."<br />
"No problem." I sat down and took a sip of my coffee.<br />
"Well?" she asked.<br />
"Well what?"<br />
"What do you suspect made Uncle Billy cancel?"<br />
I looked out at the branches bending in the north wind. "I don't know ... I'm wondering if it has anything to do with this Mike Burczyk business."<br />
"Oh? How so?"<br />
"Nothing I can put my finger on ... he just seems to be a bit preoccupied since he got into this stuff with Burczyk."<br />
Cheryl took a sip of her tea. "Well, maybe that's a good thing ... I mean, he needs something to keep himself busy."<br />
I drummed my fingers on the side of the coffee cup. "Yeah ... I guess ... I just hope he doesn't find himself out in the cold."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-13630526049511475142014-01-21T06:03:00.000-08:002014-01-21T06:03:42.770-08:00Cinema Verite<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EKe6AMZvyRXOVR2CX7AvS9CWLGByvCSSXLRX0UY3ySpgtbC0xLlOavf8OD4U-WJvdqVqKjRUJ1EYLK1SSYapnotIuyiFbxZUbFnS-XvNnmFROTmS6j3S2ieMSBi8rXTZICVWFQZy7hw/s1600/Unknown-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EKe6AMZvyRXOVR2CX7AvS9CWLGByvCSSXLRX0UY3ySpgtbC0xLlOavf8OD4U-WJvdqVqKjRUJ1EYLK1SSYapnotIuyiFbxZUbFnS-XvNnmFROTmS6j3S2ieMSBi8rXTZICVWFQZy7hw/s1600/Unknown-3.jpeg" /></a> Uncle Billy jumped in the passenger seat, shut the door and set a pair of DVD's in his lap. "Swing by the video store on the way to Manny's."<br />
"Hi, Uncle ... good to see you, too."<br />
Billy shot a glance at me. "What's got your underwear in a twist?"<br />
I pulled out of the parking lot. "Nothing ... I haven't seen you in few days ... just thought I'd say hello."<br />
Billy shrugged and held up one of the DVD's. "Anyway, I want to return this piece of crap in person ... it was the worst movie I ever saw ... and this one ..., " held up the other DVD, "... was so scratched that it wouldn't play."<br />
I made a right turn onto the highway. "When did you go to the video store?"<br />
"On Friday ... Clara took me."<br />
I looked over at him. "Oh? Really?"<br />
"Don't get any ideas, boy ... I just tagged along with her on an errand ... which turned out to be in the strip mall where the video store is."<br />
"So, why didn't you have the clerk check the DVD for scratches?"<br />
"She did ... she said they both looked fine."<br />
"What was wrong with the other one?"<br />
"It was so bad that I could barely stand watching it."<br />
I stopped for a red light. "So why did you?"<br />
"Hey, I paid good money for that thing."<br />
"Isn't your time more valuable than the couple of bucks you spent on the DVD?"<br />
"I'm not going to argue this with you ... what was the name of that stinker you went to see with Cheryl a couple of weeks ago?"<br />
My face reddened. "Okay, point taken."<br />
"Besides, I didn't have anything to do all weekend."<br />
"I thought you were meeting with Mike Burczyk on Saturday? Cheryl invited you do dinner but you begged off ... remember."<br />
Billy starred out the window. "Mike had to cancel ... I guess something came up."<br />
I pulled away from the light. "Why didn't you call? I would have come to pick you up."<br />
"I didn't want to put out Cheryl."<br />
"What are you taking about, Uncle ... she would have loved to have you over ... we had homemade pizza and there was plenty."<br />
"I guess I just wasn't in a social mood."<br />
"So ... did Burczyk reschedule the meeting?"<br />
"I don't want to talk about this right now, okay?"<br />
"Okay, okay." I glanced over at him. He was still starring out the window. "Did you watch any football yesterday."<br />
He held up the DVD's. "I wish I had."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-66707891072856111942014-01-14T06:15:00.001-08:002023-01-28T09:03:40.395-08:00Bowling and Business<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdaGSILXZr0cQVv0zFo1CnC1mHAuByg8UuZMRsF-Y03HTlND0AfpUJbXBsZeOTc5MbvKgBnIgiGWyYdMBcHKToP2RMQouvdvM6yvOnlDtJDVYyueA_1CQwHK0xvHhQVd_QHSC6RYSh6w/s1600/images-14.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdaGSILXZr0cQVv0zFo1CnC1mHAuByg8UuZMRsF-Y03HTlND0AfpUJbXBsZeOTc5MbvKgBnIgiGWyYdMBcHKToP2RMQouvdvM6yvOnlDtJDVYyueA_1CQwHK0xvHhQVd_QHSC6RYSh6w/s200/images-14.jpeg" width="200" /></a> A crash of pins in the next alley caught Hank's attention. "Team Clancy's have started already ... ," he turned and looked at me, "... where the heck is Bill?"<br />
I shrugged. "Don't know ... he's usually the one griping about other people being late."<br />
"I think he's meeting with some people," said Eb, "trying to get them to invest in his new business."<br />
I looked at Eb. "What?"<br />
"Actually, I was surprised you weren't with him, Chris," said Eb.<br />
"I don't know anything about it," I answered.<br />
"You mean he didn't try to get you to invest?" asked Eb.<br />
"Well, he mentioned something about a business venture ... but he knows I don't have any money ... why? Did he ask you, Eb?"<br />
Eb shook his head yes. "He sure did ... I was going to, too ... but Becky wasn't keen on it, so I had to tell him 'no'."<br />
I looked at Hank. "What about you?"<br />
Hank nodded. "Yeah ... he approached me about some kind of real estate deal he's involved in ... but when he said that Mike Burczyk was involved, I begged off."<br />
I looked at D'Angelo's team, four alley's over. Three of them were sitting there, looking anxiously at the clock. "I see he's late, too."<br />
Hank looked over at D'Angelo's. "You mean Burczyk?"<br />
I nodded. "Yeah ... I'll bet he and Billy are together."<br />
"Here they come," said Eb.<br />
I looked at the back isle and saw Uncle Billy and Mike Burczyk making they're way toward us. They were talking and grinning. When they reached our alley, Billy patted Burczyk on the back and said, "Well, get ready for a shellacking tonight ... I feel hot."<br />
Burczyk smiled and said, "We'll see." Then he continued on toward D'Angelo's.<br />
"You're late, Uncle," I said as Billy sat down to change his shoes.<br />
"Had business to attend to, boy," he said.<br />
"You and Burczck?" asked Hank.<br />
"You mean my business partner?"<br />
"How come you're chummy with the competition?" asked Eb.<br />
Billy laced up his shoes. "We're only competitors on the hard wood." He paused to look over at D'Angelo's and waved at Burczyk. Then he continued with his shoes.<br />
"What do you know about that guy?" asked Hank.<br />
"I know he's got a good idea ... which is a whole lot more than any of you have."<br />
"Do you really trust him," I asked.<br />
Billy finished lacing up his shoes and put his hands on his thighs. "Do you think I'd get in business with someone who isn't on the up and up?"<br />
"We're just concerned, Bill," said Hank.<br />
"Well, just concern yourself with knocking down some pins, Hank. I'd like to see this team get out of the basement for a change."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-1088869876593273682014-01-07T06:15:00.000-08:002014-01-07T06:15:51.269-08:00Mind Your Own Business<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46orDUFidjg5QjX2ErskwCdg4FxeGK6fPi9w7Lb86_bP0xMJKFPg4iSy42ULJDlfui1n2AToOyVbxvxD6rZctGsToIbRBuMa7zu0_UawG8QXswERwisG9EUAUTkhW-Uatg2ZUSTFV5wM/s1600/images-65.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg46orDUFidjg5QjX2ErskwCdg4FxeGK6fPi9w7Lb86_bP0xMJKFPg4iSy42ULJDlfui1n2AToOyVbxvxD6rZctGsToIbRBuMa7zu0_UawG8QXswERwisG9EUAUTkhW-Uatg2ZUSTFV5wM/s1600/images-65.jpeg" height="149" width="200" /></a> The woman behind the counter smiled blankly. "That'll be six eighty-three."<br />
As I reached for my wallet, Uncle Billy stepped forward. "Don't worry boy ... I've got it." Then to the woman he said. "Just put that on my order."<br />
I blinked unbelievingly for a second. "What ...?"<br />
Billy ignored me. "I'll have the number two combo."<br />
"Medium or large fries?" She said.<br />
"Large."<br />
"What to drink?"<br />
"Coke."<br />
She punch some icons on the computer screen. "That'll be twelve twenty-eight."<br />
Billy handed her a twenty dollar bill.<br />
"Gee ... thanks, Uncle," I said.<br />
Billy nodded.<br />
The woman handed Billy his change. "Your order will be ready in minute."<br />
We stepped back from the counter to allow the next diner room to order.<br />
"Well that was an unexpected treat," I said.<br />
"No problem ... I like to help out my family when I'm flush."<br />
"Oh? Did you come into some money?"<br />
"Not yet ... but a big payday is coming soon," he said.<br />
"A big payday?"<br />
He smiled. "You bet."<br />
"Would you care to elaborate?" I asked.<br />
"Sorry ... I can't reveal anything just yet ... unless ..." His expression turned serious. "... you'd care to make an investment in our enterprise."<br />
"Our?"<br />
He looked around quickly, as if searching for prying ears. "Mike Burczyk and me."<br />
"You're doing business with Mike Burczyk?"<br />
"Ssssssshh ... I don't need the whole world to know my business."<br />
"Uncle, no one else cares that your in business with Mike Burczck ... but I do ... what exactly are you up to?"<br />
"If you're not going to invest, then it's none of your business."<br />
"Of course I'm not going to invest ... even if I was interested, I don't have any money."<br />
Billy shrugged. "Well, then I guess you'll miss out."<br />
"On what?"<br />
The woman behind the counter pushed a try toward us. "A number two and a number five combo meal."<br />
"That's us," said Billy.<br />
"All right ... we'll get our food and go to a booth ... then you're going to tell what this is all about."<br />
Billy reached for the tray. "The only thing I'm going to tell you is how delicious this hamburger is."<br />
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<br />Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-69924027143127085302014-01-01T09:43:00.000-08:002014-01-01T09:43:03.262-08:00Happy New Year <br />
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The meat sack is taking the week off ... he said something about a New Year celebration ... if you call watching the ball drop in Times Square on TV a celebration. I, on the other hand, will be blasting around the 'Net, enjoying the New Year in 24 time zones ... should be a gas. Hope yours is just as exciting!</div>
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Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-9376691334408957012013-12-24T06:22:00.000-08:002013-12-24T09:14:17.587-08:00Home for the Holidays<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgeDnRLnOzV9IwsDJGkpHRS1JRa7uXZxC15l8VyYa_Up227Ma877jb_ow0-n5bpwgmM6si1ZEG5S2G1T4bivQ22JadriPARFg9utGiand0ME6v9i6hhDXD-IcLLngyRmX4TlIiXfAAWk/s1600/behouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgeDnRLnOzV9IwsDJGkpHRS1JRa7uXZxC15l8VyYa_Up227Ma877jb_ow0-n5bpwgmM6si1ZEG5S2G1T4bivQ22JadriPARFg9utGiand0ME6v9i6hhDXD-IcLLngyRmX4TlIiXfAAWk/s200/behouse.jpg" width="146" /></a> Bing Crosby crooning the sentimental lyrics of <i>I'll be Home for Christmas</i> wafted gently in the background, blending with smell of banana bread baking in the oven. The natural gas powered fireplace appeared to be crackling beneath a mantle decorated to look like Santa's workshop. All in all a very festive and holiday ambience surrounded Cheryl and me as we sat, trading sections of the Sunday Free Press and sipping our beverages; tea for her, coffee for me.<br />
Suddenly she lowered the section she was reading and looked at me. "Are you picking up Uncle Billy on Tuesday?"<br />
"No." I kept scanning the article about how the Lions playoff hopes depended on the game with the Giants this afternoon.<br />
"No? He is coming, right?" she asked.<br />
I lowered my section to look at her. "Well ... yes ... but he won't be here until five o'clock ... what made you think of that anyway?"<br />
"I was just reading this article about older people spending the holidays alone ... if you're not picking him up how is going to get here?"<br />
"You're not going to believe this, but he and Clara are volunteering at the soup kitchen on Tuesday ... from noon until four."<br />
Cheryl sat forward. "What?"<br />
"That was pretty much my response when he told me." I took a sip of my coffee.<br />
"That had to be Clara's idea."<br />
"You think?"<br />
"How in the world did she get Billy to do that?"<br />
"Must be love ... that's the only thing I can think off."<br />
She sat back, a contemplative look on her face. "Well, I knew he cared for Clara ... but love? I didn't know Uncle Billy was capable of it."<br />
I set down my coffee cup. "Come on ... you know he loves us."<br />
"Well, yes ... but it always seems a little more out of obligation than from the heart ... don't you think?"<br />
"That's just Billy's way ... he doesn't always show what he is feeling ... you know that."<br />
"Still ... you think he loves Clara?"<br />
"I do ... but he'd never admit it ... at least not to others."<br />
"Do you think he's told Clara?"<br />
"I doubt it ... but agreeing to volunteer at the soup kitchen has to be a clue for her."<br />
"So, is Clara coming for dinner too?"<br />
"No ... she is going to her son and daughter-in-law's ... she's going to drop off Billy on her way."<br />
"Hmmmm ... I wonder why Billy isn't going with her?"<br />
"He said he want's to spend Christmas Eve with us ... the tradition and all that."<br />
Cheryl smiled. "That's nice ... the boys do enjoy his company."<br />
"That's because they only see him once a year."<br />
<br />Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-77318488421389099902013-12-17T06:51:00.001-08:002013-12-17T06:51:40.369-08:00Financial Times<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I opened the door and saw Uncle Billy sitting in front of the television. “How come you have the door shut?” I asked.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy waved a hand at me. “Shhh … I want to hear this.”</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQwjLfut_h1d_MCLW9RuzSQbc5L807u8mjhMj81yGbHoP5m1g004NnZnMZboO8WUOt4IXuUG8Z2yZCqTn9CW8qaRSYWIhMCfRNoohMaF_-mq206zVO3jSqj8_ZqL3bHnWnOWhW9_3osk/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQwjLfut_h1d_MCLW9RuzSQbc5L807u8mjhMj81yGbHoP5m1g004NnZnMZboO8WUOt4IXuUG8Z2yZCqTn9CW8qaRSYWIhMCfRNoohMaF_-mq206zVO3jSqj8_ZqL3bHnWnOWhW9_3osk/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> A carefully coifed female talking head was saying something about the real estate market. “Are you watching the business news?” I asked.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy waved his hand at me again. “Will you shut up?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I walked into the kitchen and saw a pile of dishes in the sink. “Is your dish washer on the blink?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy ignored me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The dishwasher was closed and locked. I opened it and saw the washer was full. “Are these clean?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “Yes … shut up.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I started to unload the washer. “What is so engrossing on the TV?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “You wouldn’t understand … this is business.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I shrugged. “Must be really interesting to cause you to let dishes pile up.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy clicked off the television. “What would it matter … I can’t watch this with you chattering non-stop.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “I’m sorry Uncle … I’ll be quiet … you go ahead and watch.” I started to unload the washer.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy stood up. “I heard what I needed to … let’s get going … I want to get to the bank before it closes.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “This'll just take a minute … then you won’t have to mess with it when we get back.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy glanced at the clock. “Okay … hurry up … I’ll get my coat.” He walked to the closet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I put a stack of plates in the cupboard. “So, why do you have to go to the bank today?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy pulled his coat off a hanger. “What does it matter?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> “I just wondered … you usually don’t go during the week.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> He slipped his coat on and walked back toward the kitchen. "I have some business to take care of."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I put the glasses in the cupboard. "Okay ... if you don't want to tell me."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "I don't ... now hurry up."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Uncle, it's not even two o'clock ... "</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "I have an important meeting at four ... and I'd like to be on time."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "A meeting?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Will you just finish that up so we can go."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I put the last glass away. "I'm almost done ... who's the meeting with?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Mike Burczyk ... if it is any of your concern."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Mike Burczyk?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Yes ... now let's go."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I pulled a pan out of the dishwasher. "You're meeting with Mike Burczyk?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Is there and echo in here?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Here ... at your apartment?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Do you want to know what I'll be wearing?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I put the pan away. "Okay ... okay ... it's none of my business ..."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy opened the apartment door. "Good, we have that straight."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "I just find it a little odd ... that's all." I started to put dirty dishes in the washer.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "Can you do that later?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> "It won't take long."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Billy sighed. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."</span><br />
Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-70954144715862872312013-12-10T06:39:00.001-08:002013-12-10T06:39:04.411-08:00Bowling for Business I slid smoothly into the right lane from <i>Back in the Day</i>'s parking lot. "You really want to go to the bowling alley before I take you to Manny's?"<br />
Uncle Billy nodded. "Yep ... I'm meeting Mike there."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hG5XIY706LyKzGv9W_KsfiLLcn0jeknNKq-qsZgohWjz7_zUNIjTW375I2jC1D8pmvzJbnb6ce2rCsChh1xyvESI8lw6fyh_WQMblDtCB3jEkSS-1NQ5fcNmeSwI_QLh96-nw0cIqqk/s1600/images-10.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hG5XIY706LyKzGv9W_KsfiLLcn0jeknNKq-qsZgohWjz7_zUNIjTW375I2jC1D8pmvzJbnb6ce2rCsChh1xyvESI8lw6fyh_WQMblDtCB3jEkSS-1NQ5fcNmeSwI_QLh96-nw0cIqqk/s200/images-10.jpeg" width="200" /></a> "Mike?"<br />
"Yeah ... the new guy with the D'Angelos."<br />
"Mike Burczyk?"<br />
"Yep."<br />
I merged into the left lane. "You're meeting Mike Burczyk at the bowling alley?"<br />
"Yeah ... he says he likes to get in a little practice before league play starts."<br />
"How do you even know him?"<br />
"Zac introduced him to me last week."<br />
"So, what are you meeting about today?"<br />
"Business."<br />
I glanced over at Billy. "Business?"<br />
"High finance kinda stuff."<br />
"The guy is a foreman at D'Angelos Concrete ... what high finance?"<br />
"You wouldn't understand."<br />
"And you do?"<br />
"Look, just take me to bowling alley ... you don't need to know everything about my affairs."<br />
"Uncle, you just met the guy ... you don't know anything about him."<br />
"So what? He seems like a nice guy."<br />
I slowed for a red light. "They guy is at least sixty and he doesn't have a gray hair on his head."<br />
"What does that have to do with anything? Lot's of guys dye their hair these days."<br />
"Maybe ... but I think this guy is hiding something."<br />
"You decided that because he dyes his hair?"<br />
"Well ... don't you find it a bit odd that he he moved here from Florida ... in December?"<br />
"He moved here for a job at D'Angelo's ... and a pretty good one, according to Zac."<br />
The light turned green and I accelerated again. "That's another thing ... are you telling me that D'Angelo couldn't find a qualified foreman around here ... they had to recruit all the way from Florida?"<br />
"Zac told me that he's related to old man D'Angelo ... a nephew or something ..."<br />
I looked over at Billy. "And that doesn't strike you as suspicious?"<br />
"No. Why should it?"<br />
"D'Angelo never hires family ... he doesn't want any of his employees to get suspicious of nepotism."<br />
"That's not true ... there are several D'Angelos working there ... "<br />
"Yeah ... but they are all founders of the company ... they all helped with the start-up ... and they are all named D'Angelo."<br />
Billy rubbed his chin. "Well ... now that you mention it ..."<br />
"I'm telling you ... there is something going on with that guy."<br />
"What do you know? You're just jealous that he didn't invite you to talk about business."<br />
"Zac probably told him that I don't have any money."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-4037692627160481162013-12-03T09:57:00.003-08:002023-01-16T08:24:36.167-08:00The Ringer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvhD0uHh6ksNV4IetO1kSOCDNkQ22ngY_kxlGLBBf5IWQUdmyGWL1Ncc4KLuA9h4U5t-lRovm1jZu4QwfvuUhLFZC3Y2HMdH47Fy9DOTK6exRVEn7pULA9hz46YhcsRq_EF7hzBL1GEE/s1600/images.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvhD0uHh6ksNV4IetO1kSOCDNkQ22ngY_kxlGLBBf5IWQUdmyGWL1Ncc4KLuA9h4U5t-lRovm1jZu4QwfvuUhLFZC3Y2HMdH47Fy9DOTK6exRVEn7pULA9hz46YhcsRq_EF7hzBL1GEE/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a> The crash of pins was louder than usual and Eb, Hank and I turned to see the source. Two alleys over we saw three of the guys on the D'Angelo Concrete team high-fiving each other. The forth, a tall, thin man with slicked back dark hair, stood in the alley.<br />
"Who's that?" I asked.<br />
"Mike Burczyk," said Hank.<br />
"He's the new guy with D'Angelo's, eh?"<br />
"Yep," said Hank, "a ringer that Zac brought in."<br />
Uncle Billy stopped his approach and turned toward us. "Do you mind? I'm trying to pick up this spare."<br />
"Sorry, Bill," said Hank.<br />
Billy made his typically abbreviated delivery and held the finish as the ball rolled down the alley. We all watched it curve ever so slightly toward the four pin, then miss it by a fraction of an inch.<br />
Billy turned and walked slowly toward us. "I might of made that if you ladies would shut-up for a few seconds."<br />
Another loud crash came from the D'Angelo alley. The man with the slicked back hair appeared to be admiring the particularly violent strike he'd just thrown.<br />
Billy stopped and turned to look. "Who the hell is that?"<br />
"That's what Hank was just telling us," said Eb.<br />
Billy walked over to the bench and sat next to Hank. "Well?"<br />
"His name is Mike Burczyk," said Hank. "He's a friend of Zac's ... that's about all I know."<br />
We turned and looked at Burczyk as he released another ball toward the pins. The ball rocketed down the alley with amazing speed, curved into the pocket and scattered the pins in a wild explosion.<br />
"That's a turkey, isn't it." I watched the other guys on Burczyk's team shake their heads and laugh.<br />
"It is," said Hank.<br />
"It looks like D'Angelo's is tired of bringing up the rear," said Eb.<br />
"Don't they know they can't bring pro's in?" said Billy.<br />
"The guy's not a pro," said Hank.<br />
"I thought you said you didn't know anything about him," said Billy.<br />
Hank shrugged. "Well, I know he's not a pro bowler."<br />
"How do you know that?" asked Billy.<br />
"Zac told me he just moved from Florida to work as a foreman for D'Angelo."<br />
"Moved from Florida ... in the winter? What is he ... nuts?"<br />
"Could be ... but from here, it looks like he's a hell-of-a-bowler," said Hank.<br />
Billy stared over at Mike. "Yeah ... it does."<br />
"Hank ... you're up," said Eb.<br />
"Oh ... yeah,"said Hank.<br />
"And no more seven-ten splits, there, Ace?" said Billy.<br />
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Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-27330561133821042082013-11-26T06:14:00.001-08:002013-11-26T06:19:44.097-08:00Music to His Ears<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4QKSx4piHTEd3JrUuXtJOPkFFl4a5ihmYYFE3xYhqHthYULhiONWnNhJxLVgSXhLbQAKNtbokqaxVSatQxcYyL6t1IuTk3p3dY4APrSgTp4UxnyybAmE_CNO6xZHGnrJdQU01ConQu8/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4QKSx4piHTEd3JrUuXtJOPkFFl4a5ihmYYFE3xYhqHthYULhiONWnNhJxLVgSXhLbQAKNtbokqaxVSatQxcYyL6t1IuTk3p3dY4APrSgTp4UxnyybAmE_CNO6xZHGnrJdQU01ConQu8/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a> The melodious strains of Street of Dreams by the Stan Kenton Orchestra wafted out into the hallway. I walked into Uncle Billy's apartment and turned down the volume of iPod docking station.<br />
Billy, sitting at the kitchen table, looked up from his smart phone. "Hey, why'd you do that?"<br />
"All of your neighbors may not be Stan Kenton fans, Uncle."<br />
"A classic like that? With Art Pepper?"<br />
"It's good ... but too loud for you to be playing with your door open."<br />
"I'm just trying to educate the stiffs around here," he said.<br />
"They might appreciate it more if it's not in their face," I said.<br />
Billy leaned back and looked at the clock on the wall over the sink. "Well, it's about time you got here."<br />
"Gee, thanks ... I'm feeling much better," I said.<br />
Billy reddened slightly. "Oh, yeah ... I forgot you were sick last week ... what was it?"<br />
"An inner-ear infection ... at least that's what the doc said it was."<br />
"Bummer ... but at least you're better now, right?"<br />
"Yeah ... more or less ... I'm not at one-hundred percent ... but getting there."<br />
"Well, that's good ... I wasn't sure I could depend on Clara to take me to Manny's this week."<br />
"Is she out of town again?"<br />
"No ... but you never know with her ... she's always peddling books somewhere."<br />
I nodded. "My hat is off to her ... I wish I had her drive."<br />
"Well, at least you can drive me to Manny's."<br />
I shrugged. "Yeah ... I can do that ..."<br />
Billy stood and walked over the docking station. "I wanna hear some decent music on the way."<br />
He disconnected the iPod and grabbed a set of ear buds from the counter.<br />
"Uncle, I can play whatever you want on the car radio."<br />
He disconnected the iPod and grabbed a set of ear buds from the counter. "Maybe ... but I'm not taking chances."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-87352546762922919872013-11-20T07:50:00.000-08:002013-11-20T07:50:12.303-08:00Usual Business<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2BriryCInw7zmoo27pY3m4tn7sgkKczk-sPX-wVUSfw5op3MW2sChYPCPvGQen4usuDDSuFc06SqztLVWHNUWhpbGAAwMlPmQpzY3ieLLvfaasSNqsJ8U1jBVG4w231wlceR6OJv9Wk/s1600/images-31.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2BriryCInw7zmoo27pY3m4tn7sgkKczk-sPX-wVUSfw5op3MW2sChYPCPvGQen4usuDDSuFc06SqztLVWHNUWhpbGAAwMlPmQpzY3ieLLvfaasSNqsJ8U1jBVG4w231wlceR6OJv9Wk/s1600/images-31.jpeg" /></a> The quarter ended with the Lions down by eleven. The bar buzzed in nervous anticipation.<br />
<div>
"That didn't go so well," said Mary.</div>
<div>
Hank shook his head. "That's an understatement ... we looked terrible out there."</div>
<div>
Dottie changed the subject. "So, have you heard anything from the newlyweds, Mary?"</div>
<div>
"Just a couple of text messages ... they were having a terrific time in Brimley."</div>
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"I hope they don't blow all their wedding money at the casino," I said.</div>
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Mary laughed. "Well, if Eb was there alone, I'd be worried ... but Becky is pretty level headed ... she'll keep a lid on it."</div>
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"Hey," said Hank, "look who finally showed up."</div>
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We all turned at looked in the direction he was staring to see Uncle Billy making his way toward the table.</div>
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"You missed the whole first quarter, Bill," said Hank.</div>
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Billy pulled out a chair and sat down. "I saw it."</div>
<div>
"On the shuttle?" I said.</div>
<div>
"Yeah ... the guy sitting next to me had it on his iPad. He insisted on sharing the bloody mess with me ... along with a running commentary that was almost as bad the as the Lions defense." He looked around for a glass. "Can a guy get a beer around here?"</div>
<div>
Hank flagged the waitress as she walked by. "Nancy, can you bring a glass for Bill?"</div>
<div>
She nodded. "Sure thing, Hon."</div>
<div>
"So, Clara couldn't come, Uncle?" said Cheryl.</div>
<div>
Billy shrugged. "Book business, I guess."</div>
<div>
"On a Sunday?" asked Dottie.</div>
<div>
"Yeah ... she's doing another one of those signing things in Saginaw this afternoon."</div>
<div>
"At Alex Heath's book store?" I asked.</div>
<div>
Billy nodded, "Yeah ... she said it'd been scheduled for several weeks."</div>
<div>
"Oh, well I'm sure it's just business," said Cheryl.</div>
<div>
Nancy walked up an<br />
d placed a glass in front of Billy. "Here ya go, Sweetie."</div>
<div>
"Thanks," said Billy. "Now, will someone send that pitcher over here?"</div>
<div>
"Ya'll need anything else?" asked Nancy.</div>
<div>
"Maybe another pitcher?" said Hank.</div>
<div>
"Right away, Hon."</div>
<div>
I watched Billy poor beer into his glass. "Your not worried about Clara and Alex, are you Uncle?"</div>
<div>
Billy set the pitcher down, picked up his glass and took a long swallow. "Ahhh ... I've been waiting for that all morning." Then he set the glass down. "Why should I be worried?"</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-29273640775087820332013-11-12T06:06:00.002-08:002013-11-12T06:06:47.458-08:00Whose Chicken?<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKevwHTvHoULoxkrTP7foo9ltXU-DCt2MCNrhk2a8rKGjuSlkzakHH4wBMNhXjyY-62sxaeXuIMS7-63zVNnZLhpsrrGBFjl0RS_hEOLamZEj6bTq_rPTylL5ihJ8FrtjmZubAVLWZXE/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKevwHTvHoULoxkrTP7foo9ltXU-DCt2MCNrhk2a8rKGjuSlkzakHH4wBMNhXjyY-62sxaeXuIMS7-63zVNnZLhpsrrGBFjl0RS_hEOLamZEj6bTq_rPTylL5ihJ8FrtjmZubAVLWZXE/s200/Unknown.jpeg" width="200" /></a> The dance mercifully ended and several small children were rolling on the floor, laughing at the extravaganza of spazmatic movement they had just witnessed.<br />
"Did you know that's called the Chicken Dance?" Cheryl asked Uncle Billy.<br />
Billy nodded. "Of course I did ... I see them do that at the ballpark all the time."<br />
"Yeah, it's a riot," I added.<br />
"But they usually do it better then the folks here did it," said Billy.<br />
"Oh, I don't know," said Clara, "I thought they did a splendid performance."<br />
Billy made a face and was about to say something, but stopped when he heard Spike Jones's version of <i>Cocktails for Two </i>boom from the hall's sound system. He smiled and started tapping his hand on the table. "Now, that's music," he said.<br />
Becky approached the table. Her bare shoulders were glistening with perspiration from participation in the fowl dance. "Okay, Mr. Tysinger ... it's your turn to cut a rug."<br />
Billy recoiled from her slightly. "Oh no ... "<br />
Becky grabbed his hand. "Come on ... Eb said this was your song."<br />
Billy glanced at the wedding party table and saw Eb laughing heartily. "You ... " Billy sputtered.<br />
Becky pulled harder. "Come on ... it'll be fun."<br />
Billy kept resisting. "I can't ... it's ... it's this old war wound."<br />
Becky let go of his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry, Billy, I didn't know you were a wounded veteran."<br />
"You never mentioned that, William," said Clara.<br />
"I never knew you were a purple heart recipient," said Cheryl.<br />
"That's because he's not," I said.<br />
"What do you know?" said Billy. He bent down to pull up his pant leg. "See that?"<br />
Everyone at the table leaned to get a look at a barely visible three inch scar on his calf.<br />
"Uncle, you're not trying to claim that was a combat inflicted wound," I said.<br />
"Of course not," said Billy. "But it did happen in the service ... and during the Korean War."<br />
"Really?" said Clara.<br />
"Yes ... but it happened in Hawaii when you tripped over a barbed wire fence trying to steal pineapples," I said.<br />
"Benny and I were waiting for deployment to Korea and we got bored ... anyway, I spent a week in the hospital."<br />
"In Queens ... in Honolulu, because the base hospital was full of wounded combat vets."<br />
Clara pushed Billy's shoulder. "You get out there and dance with Becky."<br />
Billy slowly stood up and looked around the table. "Okay ... okay ... but if I have a relapse, it'll be all your fault."<br />
<br />
<br />
Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-89953839920496832552013-11-05T06:54:00.001-08:002023-01-08T08:16:37.603-08:00Calling Doctor Bill<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_UAu9jzymGL1o5PHwDvSWiyVIGp5Tygz2qRieN7Dz62kDjGfeqlFfmj_veZ9IhGXy3PpZL3TunJMpgfBkRc_ekrXxaZyUNWxPqoEbzSg1Z5nKlxi1YMBVtl30YQihwFoZQnrUejnpM/s1600/images-43.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s_UAu9jzymGL1o5PHwDvSWiyVIGp5Tygz2qRieN7Dz62kDjGfeqlFfmj_veZ9IhGXy3PpZL3TunJMpgfBkRc_ekrXxaZyUNWxPqoEbzSg1Z5nKlxi1YMBVtl30YQihwFoZQnrUejnpM/s200/images-43.jpeg" width="147" /></a> Strains of Pachelbel's Canon were echoing throughout the church when Uncle Billy and Clara appeared in the isle.<br />
I grabbed Cheryl's arm. "Well, look who just arrived."<br />
Cheryl turned to see them. "I thought you said he wasn't coming?"<br />
"I didn't say that ... I said I didn't know if he was coming ... he didn't want me to pick him up, so I just assumed he wasn't coming ... it never dawned on me that Clara could drive them."<br />
Cheryl waved so they could see us. "Doesn't she look beautiful?"<br />
I nodded. "She does ... and Uncle looks pretty regal in that double-breasted suit."<br />
Clara waved back and they started moving toward us.<br />
"When did he get that?" asked Cheryl.<br />
"I have no idea ... he didn't ask me to take him shopping."<br />
They approached the pew and Cheryl stood to hug Clara. "Clara, you look absolutely stunning."<br />
Clara blushed. "Thank you dear ... so sorry we're late."<br />
Cheryl gave Billy a hug and a peck on the cheek. "You look handsome, Uncle."<br />
I couldn't tell, but I swear Billy blushed too. He looked at his shoes and said, "Thanks."<br />
I stood so they could slip by to the seats next to us. As Clara passed I gave her a hug. "Cheryl's right ... you'll steal the thunder from the bride."<br />
Clara blushed some more. "I hardly think that."<br />
As Billy passed I grabbed his hand. "You sly old dog ... you brought the belle to the ball."<br />
Billy shook my hand. "She didn't have anything else to do today."<br />
"If that's your story ..."<br />
"It is." He continued on past Clara and sat next her.<br />
Cheryl squeezed past me so she could sit next to Clara.<br />
I sat down and leaned toward them so I could hear their conversation.<br />
"I'm so happy you came," said Cheryl.<br />
"Me too," said Clara. "I always enjoy being around William's friends and family."<br />
"When did he ask you to come?"<br />
Clara shot a glance at Billy, who was staring at his phone. She looked back at Cheryl. "It was several weeks ago ... I told him I'd be happy to come."<br />
A woman sitting behind Billy cleared her throat and said loudly to the man sitting next to her. "Don't you think it's rude when people use their electronic devices at social functions?"<br />
Cheryl leaned over Clara. "I think she's talking about you, Uncle."<br />
Billy looked at Cheryl and then turned to the woman behind him. "Madam, I'm a heart surgeon, and I just got word that replacement donor for one of my patients has died ... I was making arrangements for operation."<br />
The woman gasped briefly. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Doctor ... I wasn't talking about you."<br />
Clara put her hand on Billy's arm and whispered. "Maybe you should turn that off, William."<br />
<br />
Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-14003000107002911142013-10-29T15:16:00.000-07:002013-10-29T15:16:28.703-07:00There's Always Next Year<br />
<br />
We sat in disbelief as Shane Victorino's big fly settled in the outfield seats. A two to one lead was erased as three runs crossed home plate in front of him.<br />
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Hank said, "Hey, it's only the seventh inning ... we still have a chance."<br />
"Sure," I added.<br />
"Well, you Pollyanna's can delude yourselves all you want," said Uncle Billy. "The series is over."<br />
Mary looked at him. "I don't know, Bill ... we have two more innings."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UcHgX9wuwF4KN21zYniIeD968z1l5_uYtOujxSr27CuxEJNEE95-Nv9cxcsx7ja7pPVzcJ_zr0W4B4IcoBIfAMW53fWuwjeMPdi6-wGwNnFPnv1WVLpj0IkxSOi3J_-10EzcIca5sVk/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UcHgX9wuwF4KN21zYniIeD968z1l5_uYtOujxSr27CuxEJNEE95-Nv9cxcsx7ja7pPVzcJ_zr0W4B4IcoBIfAMW53fWuwjeMPdi6-wGwNnFPnv1WVLpj0IkxSOi3J_-10EzcIca5sVk/s200/images-2.jpeg" width="173" /></a> Billy snorted. "You think we're gonna score three runs in the next two innings ... what game have you been watching?"<br />
Eb nodded. "I hate to say it, but I think Bill's right ... our offense has been a little weak."<br />
"Weak? That's an upgrade," said Billy. "And we haven't had a decent closer since Willie Hernandez."<br />
Hank shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know ... seems to me that we've had a good team ... playing in the American League Championship ... we must be doing something right."<br />
"Yeah," said Hank, "for the third year in a row."<br />
I raised my glass. "Now, that is something to celebrate."<br />
Mary and Becky raised theirs.<br />
"Here's to the Detroit Tigers," said Becky.<br />
"They've got a long way to go," said Billy.<br />
"Why can't you just enjoy the success they've had so far, Uncle?"<br />
Billy frowned. "They've broken my heart too many times."<br />
"Sure, we've had some disappointments," said Hank, "but we've had a lot of highlights too ... that's baseball ... you win some and you lose some."<br />
"We've had some pretty good seasons, lately," said Eb.<br />
"That's a fact," added Mary. "We were in the World Series last year."<br />
"Yeah, and what happened than?" said Billy. "They were swept by San Francisco."<br />
Hank sighed. "But we got there ... and took down the Yankees on the way ... that was pretty cool."<br />
"Now, you have to admit that ... right, Uncle?"<br />
Billy shook his head. "They got lucky ... that's all. When the Giants called their hand, they got caught bluffing."<br />
"Bluffing?" said Hank. "How many other teams made it to the World Series?"<br />
"Why can't you just enjoy the great season of baseball they gave us this year, Uncle?"<br />
Billy took a sip of his beer. "You're right, Chris ... they gave us a great season of baseball."<br />
Hank slapped Billy on the back. "That's the spirit, Bill."<br />
Billy ignored him. "Too bad they screwed up the post-season."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-80826693985820179802013-10-22T08:27:00.000-07:002013-10-22T08:27:06.075-07:00So Long Rick<br />
I open the door and strains of 'You Always Hurt the One You Love' by Spike Jones filled my ears. Uncle Billy, wearing his jacket, sat in his easy chair watching the crawl from CNN on a soundless TV.<br />
"You can turn that off," he said, motioning to the iPod docking station.<br />
I turned it off. "Are you ready to go?"<br />
He flicked off the TV. "Yeah ... been sitting here for twenty minutes waiting for you ... I couldn't listen to anymore of the idiot news."<br />
"So, you were just watching it?"<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWF48CIgoUfrYYXa0w73-fdKyEB_Tb4oO-KBwMB4ydEkAZM6L1fNvdpyQIVnyirVTNAdHSLiurUF9EtbQbIXurvQG3Kl1ZRB2lPvNq2qC6vWXQdOvwVIuRQaJxaGAD-Jhp_kne4hvTBLw/s1600/Joe+&+Jen+Friends.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWF48CIgoUfrYYXa0w73-fdKyEB_Tb4oO-KBwMB4ydEkAZM6L1fNvdpyQIVnyirVTNAdHSLiurUF9EtbQbIXurvQG3Kl1ZRB2lPvNq2qC6vWXQdOvwVIuRQaJxaGAD-Jhp_kne4hvTBLw/s200/Joe+&+Jen+Friends.jpeg" width="143" /></a> He stood up. "I didn't want to get sucked into a movie or anything ... in case you actually showed up."<br />
"I'm sorry I'm late, Uncle ... I just received an email with some bad news."<br />
Billy looked at me. "You look a little down ... what was it?"<br />
"An old friend of mine ... Rick Massoll ... passed away last week ..."<br />
"No kidding ... I remember him."<br />
"He was a one of my closest boyhood friends ... we spent a lot of time together all through school."<br />
"I remember ... didn't he live on Donald?"<br />
"Yes ... just a block away."<br />
"What happened?"<br />
"Don't know exactly ... he wasn't in the best of health and they found him in his condo ... last week."<br />
Billy shook his head. "That's too bad ... when was the last time you saw him?"<br />
"That's just it ... we drifted apart years ago ... and I hadn't seen him in about fifteen years ... I really regret that we never seemed to be able to hook up."<br />
Billy put his hand on my shoulder. "It's tough to lose an old friend ... I know."<br />
I was a little surprised by Billy's show of empathy and compassion. "Thank you, Uncle."<br />
He abruptly pushed me toward the door. "Now, let's get going before Manny's closes."<br />
I sighed. "How many times do we have to go through this? Manny's never closes."<br />
"That's what you say ... but you just never know."<br />
Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3238146500486912229.post-51871630594538666102013-10-15T06:58:00.001-07:002013-10-15T06:58:23.399-07:00Phone Envy<i>If you'd like to hear an audio version of this post, please click on the following link:</i><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7JAg6aSihM&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7JAg6aSihM&feature=youtu.be</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoROfPKsq2QM3uuCXiU56wpDgka_asttu3aWMkr80pl9IJD0ukZmaqIJCLlHqaQ0czOSE4VnT-ctbs-6ZjylIt4JGe9Pw_ta_28xWXMrqhmnmVfSK8RtsRGRS-wZnEIrw95i5bHHmX_7s/s1600/Unknown-6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoROfPKsq2QM3uuCXiU56wpDgka_asttu3aWMkr80pl9IJD0ukZmaqIJCLlHqaQ0czOSE4VnT-ctbs-6ZjylIt4JGe9Pw_ta_28xWXMrqhmnmVfSK8RtsRGRS-wZnEIrw95i5bHHmX_7s/s200/Unknown-6.jpeg" width="178" /></a> "Look at this one." I pushed the Sprint flyer across the table so Cheryl could see it. "An HTC Evo Shift 4G ... whatever that is," I said.<br />
Cheryl set down her paper and studied the ad for a moment. "It says it's pre-owned ... that's not so good."<br />
"Yeah, but look at the price."<br />
"A hundred and twenty bucks," she said.<br />
"Well, compare that to some of those other phones ... look, that LG Optimus G ... it's Five Hundred and Forty-nine."<br />
She took a sip of her tea and looked at me over the paper. "Haven't we been over this before? How much does the service cost?"<br />
I nodded. "Yeah ... that is the problem ... you have to get data service with those things and our monthly bill would double."<br />
"And tell me again why you think you need one of those?"<br />
"Well ... I could get emails wherever I am."<br />
"That's worth a hundred bucks a month?"<br />
"And I could access the Internet whenever I wanted."<br />
"And that's important because?"<br />
"Well ... suppose we were on a road trip and needed to find a hotel ... I could search on-line for a deal."<br />
"When was the last road trip we took?"<br />
I thought for a moment. "Okay ... it's been a while ... but you never know when the opportunity might crop up."<br />
Cheryl pushed the flyer back toward me and picked up the section she had been reading.<br />
"Hey, what about checking the weather radar when we we're camping," I continued. "You have to admit it would be nice to see what's coming."<br />
"Yes," she said without looking at me. "But do you really think paying an extra hundred dollars a month for the next year is worth it? If we really needed a weather report when we're camping, couldn't we just run up to Joe's Friendly Tavern and watch the weather channel?"<br />
I sighed. "Well, Uncle Billy swears by his smartphone ... he says its the greatest thing since television."<br />
Cheryl took another sip of tea. "Maybe ... but Uncle Billy spends hours online with his Facebook and Twitter accounts ... are you going to be doing that?"<br />
I shrugged my shoulders. "No."<br />
"Look, you can do whatever you want ... I'm just repeating the same arguments you gave me when I suggested you upgrade to a smartphone last month ... you said you just needed a phone to make calls and check your voicemail ... that was it ... you didn't want all those extra features ... right?"<br />
I nodded. "Yeah ... you're right." I pulled out my new flip phone and looked at it. "This is just fine."<br />
"Now, why don't you use that thing and call Clara ... I want to know if Billy asked her to go to Eb and Becky's wedding with him."Christopher Hudsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03667548312923348614noreply@blogger.com0