I Saw A Shiny Red Tractor

Along about Saturday, I saw a tractor for sale at the shut down car dealership. The tractor pictured here is not the actual tractor locally displayed, but one similar to it. The car dealership was in business for 40 or 60 years in this town, but the makers of cars are like the vendors of petroleum products, they think just of themselves, not of those who work hard to get them where they are. And where are they? In charge of Washington, they snap their fingers and Washington does whatever they want.

The tractor is a Ford 601 Workmaster. Whoever did some work lately on this tractor decided to take gray spray paint and paint right over the gauges in front of the steering wheel. Meeting this tractor is sort of like meeting a telephone operator in an ankle length dress in 1914, who moonlights as a waitress in a small cafe on a major highway, about a third of a mile from an old farm. Of course, a telephone operator from a century ago who might meet me mght also think it is similar to meeting a steam-powered tractor that has seen its better days and has been discarded along with other obsolete farm implements in the back of a dilapidated old barn on an abandoned farm overgreen with weeds, about a third of a mile from a small cafe that serves really good breakfast.

I looked up the Ford 601 Workmaster Tractor online. They were made between 1953 and 1964. At that time, the population of the United States (in 1960) was 180 million. Farmers drove these Ford 601 Workmaster Tractors and raised crops. God allowed it to rain. The crops grew. Madeline O'Hare fought against God's blessings. The Treasury showed their duplicity by printing "In God We Trust" on coins and paper bills, and then ruled against prayer in the schools, siding with Madeline O'Hare. Housewives, who had not yet invaded the workplace, cooked the crops that were harvested from the green verdant fields, and the whole family sat down at the kitchen table, or the dining room table if you had an upstairs, at 5:00 p.m., to devour these delectable crops. These crops consisted of beans, peas, okra, eggplants, corn, squash, peanuts, collard greens and turnip greens, and occasionally tomatoes and watermelons. The little children who ate these crops, with cornbread, grew up and got married and had children. As a result, after 52 years, the population of the United States increased from 180 million to 309 million. These darned Ford 601 Workmaster Tractors have caused nothing but trouble. I see that the only proper decision is to not get this Ford 601 Workmaster Tractor. It has a shady past.

I know I have to get my priorities straight. Despite its checkered past, I want to become the new owner of this Ford 601 Workmaster Tractor, because they do not make them anymore, and I am scared they will run out of them. I would treat it good, and re-do the instrument panel. I know there is no sense in getting a shiny red vintage tractor unless I already have a 500 acre farm. But sometimes, in the quiet of an insomniac night, I think to myself, which came first, the 500 acre farm, or the farmerette?

(c) 2012 by Hooknose McGee

A Skeptic's View Of The Moon

Many times I have wondered, when I look up at the night sky and see the Moon, seemingly nearby, "Is it possible that the Moon is not 238,000 miles away? Because if it was that far away, it would have to be really big for we Earthlings to see it from that far away. Maybe the Moon is only 17,000 miles away, and the scientists have it all wrong. Maybe when they measure the light rays coming in from outer space, between here and the Moon, the readings are inaccurate because of clouds and moisture in the lower atmosphere of the Earth." Maybe you have wondered the same thing, and pondered the accuracy of science in general, and been outraged that astronomers and scientists would make bold claims about how far away the Moon is.

I say it is time we call the bluff of the scientists, and show them how smart we are. Let's do some really logical computations about how dang far away the Moon actually is. Let's show those arrogant scientists that we know a thing or two about figuring out how far away the Moon is. And after we prove we are bright and capable of highly accurate layperson computations to arrive at the distance of the Moon from the Earth, then we will solve other age-old scientific mysteries. So move out of the way, Scientists! I am ready to prove my scholarly mettle!

When you look up at the Moon in the sky, it takes up one inch of the width of the Sky. When you hold up a ruler at arm's length, and put it right where the Moon is in the Sky, it is exactly one inch wide. No one can dispute that. Rulers do not lie. If I ruled over a Nation, would I lie to my people? No, you know I would not.

At 238,000 miles away from Earth, the Moon is one inch wide. At 119,000 miles away, it would be two inches wide. For ease of computation, instead of saying, at 59,500 miles away, let's go ahead and round it up to 60,000 miles. That is the only scientifically sound thing to do, since archeological eras are estimated in millions of years by scientists all the time. So, back to our scholarly figures. At 60,000 miles away, the Moon would be four inches wide. At 30,000 miles away, it would be eight inches wide. At 15,000 miles away, it would be 16 inches wide. At 7,500 miles away, it would be 32 inches wide. At 3,750 miles away, it would be 64 inches wide. At 1,875 miles away, it would be 128 inches wide. At 938 miles away, it would 256 inches wide. At 469 miles away, it would be 512 inches wide. At 235 miles away, it would be 1,024 inches wide. At 117 miles away, it would be 2,048 inches wide. At 59 miles away, it would be 4,096 inches wide. At 30 miles away, it would be 8,192 inches wide. At 15 miles away, it would 16,388 inches wide. At 7-1/2 miles away, it would be 32,772 inches wide. At 3-3/4 miles away, it would be 65,544 inches wide. At 1.88 miles away, it would be 131,088 inches wide. At .94 miles away, it would be 262,176 inches wide. At .47 miles away, it would be 524,352 inches wide. At .235 miles away, it would be 1,048,704 inches wide. At .1175 miles away, it would be 2,097,408 inches wide. At .05825 miles away, it would be 4,194,816inches wide. At .029375 miles away, it would be 8,389,632 inches wide. At .0146875 miles away, it would be 16,779,264 inches wide. At .00734375 miles away, it would be 33,558,528 inches wide. At .003671875 miles away, it would be 67,117,056 inches wide. At .001809375 miles away, it would be 134,234,112 inches wide.

In other words, if the Moon was only 9 feet 7 inches away from the Earth, it would be 2,119 miles wide. Scientists claim the Moon is about 2,160 miles wide. Obviously, my calculations, based on little more than common sense, are highly accurate. All those science books should be revised as soon as possible to reflect that the Moon is 233,482.4 miles from the Earth. What do you say? Let's all meet at the Griffith Park Observatory and have a big party. With beer kegs and pretzels. Please do not bring any boom boxes because then I would have to calculate how far the sound of a 105 decibel boombox travels in a vacuum.

(c) 2012 by Hooknose McGee

Hutch Hutch Sweet Charlotte

In due course of time, the projects I have been working on lately would be showcased here in Blogspot Land. The old Roadmaster bicycle is from circa 1967 as far as I can determine. I did the restoration when I got around to it, meaning this bicycle sat unattended in my apartment for six or seven months. It now has been shined up and refurbished, with new tires, a new basket, a replacement seat and some reflectors. It works quite well.

The red and yellow dresser was another project that waited its turn for many months. The handle of each drawer was a two prong style, up at the very top of the drawer. Those were replaced with round wooden knobs in the center of each drawer. This is a quite light weight dresser and was made in Kopenhagen, so it says on the back, and is date stamped on the bottom drawer "August 7, 1962". So this dresser is about 48 years old. Now that it is restored, it is good to go for another 48 years.

The large wooden contraption sitting on top of that blue and white dresser with the red knobs is a hutch that I built from scrap lumber. I spent a good amount of time on this project, somewhere around 12 days. I would have preferred to have larger shelves for the top two shelves, but beggars of scrap lumber cannot be choosers, so I had to use what was available. This is freshly completed today and it was a challenge to pick it up and sit it on top of the dresser all by myself. There is a lot of space between the top of the dresser and the bottom of the first shelf, so that items can be placed on top of the dresser. Once books, more than likely, large books even more likely, are placed on the bottom shelf, this hutch will be well anchored on top of the dresser. No tipping allowed.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

The Chair With The Chocolate Legs

Here are some pictures of a chair I found a couple of months ago at curbside trash 400 yards from where my apartment is located. I did a complete restoration. It had only one leg, which I removed. I built the new legs for it. The picture in which the ribs are painted blue was taken after I did that part of the restoration. It was totally bare wood when I found it. It also appeared to be very old. Since I found this chair, I have seen other chairs almost identical to it, so at one time many of these chairs were manufactured. But it is an honor to own it now in its restored state, for which I have myself to thank. But it could look good like this for many decades to come. It has been painted with painstaking detail.

UPDATE ON JUNE 26, 2010 ----- Moments ago, with no CNN reporters present, I added up top the two pictures of the dresser now featured there. I began that project about six or seven months ago but the gouge on the lower right side as you look at the dresser from the front was filled with putty that took months to dry. So in June I finished up the work and this is the result. I am certainly proud of it. You will notice how neatly aligned the lines in the back are where the three colors intersect.

UPDATE ON JUNE 15, 2010 ----- Just now I added a picture up top of a VHS tape rack. I built this from scrap lumber that I found in various locations. It took me about 4 weeks to complete this project. It is about 6 feet 3 inches tall and 25-1/2 inches wide. Each shelf, and there are 7 of them, I believe, will hold 21 VHS tapes. I look forward to going to a genuine wide open space flea market in the near future and collecting more VHS tapes than I now have. Do you realize that some movies are not available on DVD that can be found on VHS?

UPDATE ON JUNE 17, 2010 ----- This evening I added two pictures up top. You can see the rocking chair, Before and After. The Before picture is from about Monday and was taken after the chair was completely repaired and scrubbed down, but not yet rinsed off with the hose. Wood dries quickly in the hot sun and is ready in no time to be painted. The left arm rest was loose, like a flap. The very top head rest board was detached but was included with the chair abandoned at curbside, that I found about three months or so ago. Finally, I got around to the restoration. The After picture was taken on Thursday. There is much work involved in such a multiple color scheme for a piece of furniture. But it looks much more interesting than if the item was painted a single color. I would estimate the chair to be 40 to 45 years old, based on how dilapidated it was and how the paint had done serious peeling. But now that it is fully restored, it may be good for a good many more years. I am thinking of putting it on the front porch and sitting in it to read a book now and then.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

Furniture That I Worked On Instead of Posting Blogs

The title of this story is "Furniture That I Worked On Instead of Posting Blogs." It is based entirely on true events.

It was a tepid and humid morn on April 16, 2010. On my walk around this misbegotten town, where a pedestrian can be run down by a motorist, and I am that pedestrian and have escaped with my life several times, I saw a heap of curbside trash, about 1000 yards from my apartment. The back of a piece of furniture was covering up the main frame, which in sum total, happened to be a bookcase. The owner of the house came outside, apparently to walk somewhere. I told her, "I am interested in these discarded items." She said, "Oh, that's fine. They are for the taking." I said thank you. I buried the back of the bookcase under debris. It was already dirty. Then I picked up the main frame of the bookcase and carried it toward home. I could carry it about 100 yards at a time, considering it is heavy. With 400 yards to go, a man in a van asked if he could help. He put the bookcase in the back and gave me a ride the rest of the way. You can see how the item looked, and the various stages of refurbishing it went through. How do you like that for a shortcut in a blog post? I just omitted five paragraphs of detailed description of whodunit and how it was pulled off.

Also, the top picture here shows the solid wood bookcase that I completed several months ago. I do not remember if I previously wrote a post about this or posted pictures. But it was written on all over in color crayon. A lot of work was done before it reached the final stage, ready for the Huntington Library.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

Image 214 -- The Origin of Valentine's Day

The title of this story is "The Origin of Valentine's Day." It is based partly on true events. When I downloaded the picture with an image processing service, it was assigned an image number at random, and by coincidence, it was named Image 214.

In 1775, Giuseppe Balsamo, a man who grew up in poverty in a small village in Italy, convinced a nobleman in Paris to entrust him with a valuable gem, which Balsamo claimed was in jeopardy of being spirited away by diabolic forces. Balsamo, a magician, caused the diamond ring to disappear. Balsamo followed suit. Balsamo took on an alias and became known as Count Allesandro di Cagliostro. He was known to have traveled widely. While in St. Petersburg, Russia, he met a concert pianist named Valentina Kotlyarova, whose sister, Tatiana, was serving a 15-year sentence working in austere conditions in a salt mine in Siberia. Tatiana had tossed two loaves of bread and a flask of red wine over a prison wall, and was sentenced to hard labor for aiding a prisoner. Cagliostro, who was deeply in love with Valentina, said to his love, "Take this ring and buy the freedom of your beloved sister Tatiana. And forever be my Valentina."

Then Count Cagliostro fled Russia on February 14, 1775 and returned to the South of France. In the vineyard country of Southern France, Cagliostro experimented with various libations, hoping to discover the elixir of life, a liquid that would render immortal those who drink of it. Several times he was arrested for public drunkenness and kept overnight in a holding cell, but he was always willing to sacrifice his sobriety in order to advance science. He seemed to be rejuvenated, and appeared to be in the process of reversing the aging process.

But Cagliostro was a wanted man, and soon he was apprehended by an officer of the law and tried in the French Court in Paris in the trial of the century, referred to for over two hundred years as The Case Of The Diamond Necklace. After he was found guilty, he was confined in a dungeon in Versailles, but appealed his conviction, claiming that the missing jewelry was not a necklace, but rather a diamond ring, even though he was in no way involved in its disappearance.

Tatiana Kotlyarova, strong and fit as a result of lifting 100 pound sacks of salt, overpowered a guard and escaped from Siberia. She traveled from Siberia to Versailles to visit Cagliostro at the dungeon where he was imprisoned. Tatiana was incorrigible and wasted little time in becoming a repeat offender. Tatiana wore a robe and a hood over her head that cold February day. She was able to visit Cagliostro in his cell at the dungeon by telling the guards she was his sister-in-law and that she had brought a hatbox containing presents from his Russian bride. Paris was in turmoil because of the Revolution, and a guard escorted Tatiana to Cagliostro's cell. In the hatbox was a robe with a hood. Tatiana gave Cagliostro a note from Valentina. It read, "I will always be your Valentina." When she wrote the note to her one true love, Valentina cried a tear, which fell on the edge of the missive, and changed the "a" at the end of her name to an "e". Tatiana called for the guard, and then quickly hid under Cagliostro's mattress. Cagliostro, wearing the smuggled garment, walked out of the dungeon and right past the guards, who assumed he was Tatiana.

The street in Versailles on which the dungeon was situated was renamed Rue de Tatiana in 1926. The love letter from Valentina to Cagliostro is hermetically sealed under a crystal display case in a museum in Venice.

A Writ of Commutation of Cagliostro's conviction for the theft of the diamond necklace was signed by King Louis XVI. Written on a single line at the bottom of the one-page document were the words "A pardon is hereby Recorded by the King at Versailles this 14th day of June, 1777." The vintage of French wine in 1777 was poor due to the harsh winter of 1776-1777. The ink used by the Royal Court, derived from red grape residue in wooden fermentation barrels, was weak in texture. The document signed by King Louis XVI exonerating Cagliostro, when discovered by historians in 1925 in French Court archives, had mostly faded, but the verbiage "Record" and "King" were still legible at the bottom of the document.

Cagliostro joined the French Army under an alias and fought in support of the American colonists as a mercenary during the Revolutionary War. At the war's end, Cagliostro remained in the United States, raising sugar cane on a 300-acre farm in North Carolina. In 1794, to commemorate the Oath of the Tennis Court taken at an assembly for government reform in Versailles in June 1789 that was an integral event in the French Revolution, Cagliostro, by 1794 known as the Record King, vowed to kick every top 10 women's tennis player in the world over a banister. To express his gratitude to King Louis XVI for his pardon in absentia, the Record King, in 1797, penned the lyrics to "Louie, Louie" that became a pop hit for the Kingsmen some 170 years later.

In early 2008, in Cullowhee, North Carolina, the Record King, whose ancestral land of origin is Italy, took a DNA test so he could find out if the family rumor that he is related to Al Capone is in fact true. When the results of the DNA test came back in February 2008 from the lab in Oxford, England, the Record King found out that not only is he a perfect match with Count Allesandro di Cagliostro, but that he in fact is Cagliostro. The Record King, who has a striking resemblance to Cagliostro, admits to having an imperfect memory, does not recall a tryst over two centuries ago with Valentina Kotlyarova, and is confused about his true age.

The portrait of Cagliostro was painted in 1785. If he walked into Ryan's, he would get the senior discount.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

Twin Cat Feet

Today was the long-awaited day that the three-tier dresser table would be reassembled. I was so happy with the yellow enamel paint that I obtained from the hardware store that was closing its doors after about 75 years in business. It took nearly an entire can of red spray paint from Walmart to paint the three plastic knobs. The knobs had to be painted on the bottom first, then after a couple days of drying, had to be turned over and painted on top. Saturday afternoon was the time I had scheduled to remove the masking tape from the large wooden frame, and also from each of the three knobless drawers. In order to not contaminate the delicate components, I decided to call on NASA to assist me in this critical stage of three-tier dresser restoration.

The phone at NASA rang. "NASA Community Affairs, Methusaleh Anna speaking," I was excited. I had reached a live person.

"Methusaleh Anna, good afternoon. This is Hooknose McGee. Can you connect me with Dr. Turcott?".

"Are you the Hooknose McGee?" Methusaleh Anna asked, in the nervous tone of voice typical of the average groupie.

"That would be me," I replied.

"Wow!" Methusaleh Anna gushed. "My fiance used to get your newsletter and we died laughing over those made up stories."

"Well, when's the wedding?" I asked.

"Oh, we broke up and I joined an online dating site," Methusaleh Anna explained.

"Excellent, Methusaleh Anna. That would be just the right place for you to find your dream aeronautical engineer to replace the guy that bailed out."

"That's a rocket scientist, right?" Methusaleh Anna inquired.

"I think so, Methusaleh Anna. Can I talk to Dr. Turcott now?".

"Sure, just a moment, Mr. McGee," Methusaleh Anna stated, with admiration in her bureaucratically high pitched voice.

"Dr. Allen Turcott here. How may I help you?".

"Dr. Turcott, this is Hooknose McGee, and I am a big fan of yours. I have read all your papers on quantum physics and experimental time travel. Plus, I bought your two books."

"That is good to hear. I made four dollars in royalties from you alone."

"Dr. Turcott, I am working on the delicate restoration of an older dresser, and I really would like to come down to your compound from Alabama so I can remove the masking tape in zero gravity and a total vacuum so that these heirloom dresser drawers do not get contaminated."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. McGee, I would like to help you, but NASA gets all its dressers through the General Accounting Office, and does not get involved in private dresser transactions unless they in some way impact national security."

"But I went through proper channels, Dr. Turcott. I contacted Community Affairs and they like me there. I just want what is best for America. We have to preserve America's heritage one dresser at a time." I pleaded my case with as little whine as I could muster, mingled with sophistry.

"Well, why didn't you say so, Mr. McGee?" Dr. Turcott blurted out, apologetically. "I am dispatching a C-141 Cargo Plane to Dothan Airport to transport you and the heirloom dresser to our location. A shiny 40-foot limousine will pick you up and transport you to the airport. Everything is being put on hold here at NASA until your arrival! And for God's sake, Hooknose McGee, hurry!".

Man, are those C-141's noisy. I had to wear earmuffs the entire 55-minute trip. I had wrapped up the heirloom three tier dresser in a large green moving blanket, and held onto it in front of my seat that was bolted to the wall of the spacious transport plane during the entire plane ride.

I was in the vacuum chamber in a NASA spacesuit for one and a half hours. It is a tedious operation to remove the masking tape from a dresser that is a relic from a former century. Then I exited the vacuum chamber and removed the spacesuit in the adjacent decompression chamber. I was driven by golf cart back to the C-141, where the captain and crew had been waiting patiently on the NASA tarmac for my return.

Methusaleh Anna came running out to the C-141 as I started up the steps, and blurted out, "Hooknose McGee! Can I have your autograph?".

I took a step back. "Methusaleh Anna! Please don't come near this dresser, because it is in museum condition. I don't have anything to write on. You got anything?".

Methusaleh Anna rummaged through her purse and said, "All's I got is my time card." She fetched it out of her purse and slapped it down on top of the three tier dresser.

I wrote on the back of the time card. "Methusaleh Anna, don't you cry for me. For I'm going to Alabama, with a three tier dresser on my knee. Best wishes in your future endeavors. Hooknose McGee. February 6, 2010."

Then I climbed the stairs to board the C-141 Cargo Plane. Faintly, above the roar of the C141's engines, I could hear Methusaleh Anna shout to me, "Mr. McGee! You wrote down the wrong century!"

Before entering the open door, I hesitated on the platform of the stairs. Clutching the precious three tier dresser to my bosom, I turned and smiled at Methusaleh Anna, and waved farewell.

Methusaleh Anna stood on the tarmac, her hair up in a bun, tossed by the turbulence of gusty winds. Galvanized by the moment, she stood unmoved. I suddenly realized she had only a timecard to remember me by. I walked down the metal stairs and placed the three tier dresser gently in front of Methusaleh Anna. I had a feeling it was going back to a time where it would feel very much at home.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

A Social Call From One Mr. Mize

One day last week I heard a tapping at the front door of my apartment. It was not one of those bang the door down because you have the honor of my unexpected arrival kind of knocks. No, it was more of a timid, reserved, apologetic, sorry to disturb you type of knock. My curiosity caused me to quickly stride to the front door, which was closed. Heck, a knock that faint could be administered by a Colonial girl from the 1700's dressed in a gingham gown, bringing me a wheelbarrow filled with kindling wood her father had chopped, but they had overstocked, and Spring was fast approaching. I opened the door, and the only thing standing between me and the spectacle in front of me was the screen door, which, for my safety, is always latched.

"Good afternoon, Mr. McGee, my name is Earl E. D. Mize," the visitor said, gravely.

"Well, that would mean you have four names, then?" I asked, guardedly. "Would you like to come in?".

"Yes, thank you," replied the unexpected guest, "Don't mind if I do." The black-cloaked entity leaned his scyth against the brick wall next to the apartment door and walked inside as I pushed open the screen door. "Say, that is some dresser there!" he marveled. I motioned for the black-cloaked one to be seated in the comfortable armchair, as I sat down on the stark wooden desk chair.

"I did all that work myself. A total restoration," I said modestly, leaving the words of laudatory approval to be spoken at all times by strangers. But I am always watching over them closely, in case they faint and pitch forward. "I love taking the scuffed up dressers at thrift shops and yard sales, and turning them into respectable members of furniture society." I hestitated for a few seconds. "So if you don't mind my asking, what does the 'E. D.' in your name stand for?".

"Oh, those initials stand for 'Early Death'. It is quite appropriate for a man in the business I am in to have four names. You are aware, aren't you, that in Chinese the character for death and the character for the number four are one and the same?" Earl E. D. Mize asked, his voice rising.

"Yes, I did know that. Can I get you some milk, or would you like for me to brew up a cup of Top Ramen beef flavor broth? People are dying in droves. You must have walked at least two blocks to get here, and you could be on the brink of being famished and dehydrated," I stated sarcastically.

"You are such a gracious host, Mr. McGee," my guest stated, apparently comforted by my hospitality. "But I am not here on the occasion of your dying. I would love to try that Top Ramen beef flavor broth you mentioned."

"I have a cousin named Earl," I confided in Earl E. D. Mize, as I went to the kitchen to put water in the copper kettle and turned on the electric burner. Here we were, breaking bubbles together, and I could feel a rapport developing with this harbinger of foreboding tidings.

"Yes, I know, and he's gonna get his, too," my mysterious visitor assured me.

"He's gonna get his what?" I asked, shocked that Earl E. D. Mize knew, or asserted that he knew, I had a cousin named Earl.

"His pending appointment with me, of course," Earl E. D. Mize replied, surprised I had not yet discerned his itinerate odyssey. "I stay busy making my actuarial rounds."

"Now that we have had a proper introduction, I trust that you will tell me why you are here, Earl E. D. Mize," I entreated him, hoping the news would not be dreadful.

"This is your Notice appointment. Your Warranty is about to expire. I am giving you your 90-month Notice, and I advise you to make the most of your remaining time here in this Earthly realm," Earl E. D. Mize stated softly between slurps, as he sipped the Top Ramen beef broth from the Pantry mug.

"Ninety months?" I mused. "That would be seven and a half years. I guess that means I should take early Social Security, huh?".

"Either that, or you could move back into a storage shed, if that is the lifestyle you prefer," Earl E. D. Mize stated, empathically. "How you proceed from here is entirely up to you, Mr. McGee. Have a nice day."

Then Earl E. D. Mize gently pushed open the screen door and went on to his next appointment.

(c) 2010 by Hooknose McGee

Requiem For A Microwave

On November 25, 2009, for the noon meal, I washed two Russet potatoes, put them in a rinsed TV dinner container, and placed them in the microwave to cook. I set the timer for 7 minutes 45 seconds and pressed the Start button. A loud humming noise ensued, much louder than the noise volume usually produced by the microwave, and within a couple of minutes, the pungent odor of burning insulation permeated the room. I cancelled the settings on the microwave, removed the two potatoes, and put them in the oven to cook.

The recycle and trash disposal area is about 85 yards from my back door. But it would not be proper, based on the years of thankless faithful service rendered to the owner, for me to dispose of my short-circuited microwave as if it was only an object. It had been a member of the family and had lived with me in three different States. It was there for me in the chill of dawn, a workhorse of modest demeanor, when I was driven by the dementia that inspires mentally unbalanced joggers to stir before first light and run around the city streets for exercise. I believe it warmed up over 1,000 cups of water for coffee over the years. I had to do the right thing for my trusty microwave and give it a proper funeral.

I got one of my best green blankets and spread it out on the living room floor. At one end, the microwave was formally placed, the spark that once surged through its insulated wires now motionless and wane. After closing the door for the final time, never to be opened again, its glass carousel tray leaned forlornly against it, like a warrior being honored for gallantry in battle lying stately next to his shield. It will be kept as a keepsake in remembrance of the blissful hours we shared. The jar of Maxwell House instant coffee stood reverently in silence, next to the Original Pantry coffee mug that was its constant companion. The bond they shared could have never been forged, save for the warmth of the noble machine perched on top of the refrigerator that guided each cup of water on a merry-go-round circuit of its carousel for thirteen revolutions until the water was heated to a level that could dissolve coffee grounds.

The TV dinners that had waited their turn in the freezer of the refrigerator until the historic day, which they sadly realized would never come, to be placed in the microwave, reclined at right angles on the green blanket to pay their last respects to the still white box with the illuminated panel that, like clockwork, broke the silence of each morning with a series of beeps. Among the assembled dignitaries was a lone box of pizza that, though oven-bound, empathized with the TV dinners.

It was a General Electric microwave, manufactured in December 2003. I purchased it at the Wal-Mart in Sylva, North Carolina in late January 2004. We were nearly inseparable. It was Model Number JES7389WH001. Its Serial Number was ZF906404U. After each warming cycle, the word "End" would appear on its illuminated digital screen. In its final days, I sensed intuitively that the microwave, that emitted a high-pitched frequency sound with the push of each number button when it was programmed for a cooking time, wanted to play the theme of the old western, "The Lone Ranger."

When I took it across the vacant field to the recycle area, I placed it in an isolated area of the domed enclosure. On it was a sign I had printed out, "Burned out. R.I.P. January 2004 to Nov. 25, 2009." Maybe it will be recycled into another useful appliance that will have a similar resilience and spirit of warmth when it is reincarnated as another electronic entity. I know it is in Appliance Heaven.

(c) 2009 by Hooknose McGee

Mile Marker 33

I think I can write this post in 25 minutes, then it will be ready for tomorrow, which is the day it focuses on.

I was born on Sunday, November 28, 1948. Now that you know this, you may think to yourself, "What an old person. I have no interest in a blog written by an old person." But yet, you might, if you read on. You might just find this post intriguing.

The day I was born was the 333rd day of the year. It was a leap year, so in most years that I have lived, for instance, 1949, 1950, and 1951, I was born on the 332nd day of those years. But every leap year, I was born on the 333rd day of that year.

We fast forward from 1948 to 1984. I was attending California State University at Los Angeles. The finals were scheduled for probably the last week of March. They were scheduled at odd hours, not like our regular classes. Thus it was dark when I returned to the parking lot late one March night in 1984 after taking a final, and found that my 1957 restored VW was stolen. A postal employee called me several days later and said he saw my trashed car in Monterey Park. He foraged around among the papers scattered around and found my identity, and gave me a call.

My friend George Kasparek was sort of a garage mechanic who took in abused cars and fixed them up. He had a 1971 Datsun 210 station wagon that his daughter Kelly had owned for several years, but she was ready to move up in transportation. He told me I could have it for $1200. So I agreed to the transaction. This car lasted me about three and a half years. It got good mileage.

I was driving later in 1984 to Las Vegas. I was glancing at the odometer with interest and curiosity every once in a while because it was coming up on 33,333 miles. This particular car, like many older model cars, does not get to 100,000 miles and keeps on counting. It gets to 99,999.9 miles and then rolls back to 00000 miles. So I knew I was really at the 133,333 mile mark of the car's life, but yet the odometer was coming up on 33,333. And of course, like most older cars, it had a tenths of a mile digit as well. It is the Gospel truth when I tell you that just exactly as my car passed the road sign which read "Las Vegas 33," the odometer was precisely at 33,333 and three-tenths, it could not have been a foot closer.

On October 1, 2009, an interesting statistic is that I will be 22,222 days old. And lately, I have been thinking how nice it would be if I could live to be 33,333 days old. I would theoretically reach that age on March 3, 2040. What do you know? 3/3, just three days after Leap Year Day 2040, February 29.

Just think what a person could accomplish in a thousand days, if resolute and goal-oriented. I have given it some thought. One could just about go to law school in a thousand days. One could just about build a house in a thousand days. One could just about write a book, even if quite slowly, in a thousand days. One could think of eleven separate goals that require a block of time of one thousand days each, and envision those goals in advance and see if they could be brought about.

Curious About The Day I Became 11,111 Days Old

After spending this morning basking in the glow of being on the brink of turning 22,222 days old today at 4:20 p.m. in the Time Zone I currently live in here in Alabama, it occurred to me that by reaching this 22,222 days-old milestone, there was a point in time when I reached 11,111 days old. So I got my calculator and determined that the day I turned 11,111 days old was May 1, 1979. Then I recalled that it was in November 1978 that I began to run in the road races. I had run primarily on the track prior to that. And I recalled this morning that I have a log book listing my training and how I did in races in 1979. It was on the top shelf of a closet. So a few minutes ago, I got that book and checked it out, pardon the pun. It turns out that on March 31, 1979, a Saturday, I ran a Personal Record at the SCATS 10K in Huntington Beach, California, finishing in 9th place (and I recall it was quite a big crowd of runners, maybe 1500 or more) in 33:30.2. The following week, in Santa Monica, I ran the Schick 10K in 33:45.3. Then on May 19, I ran the Bullock's Westwood 10K in 33:20.6, and on May 27, I ran the Brentwood 10K in 33:26. There is no earth-shaking significance to these events, other than they constitute four 10K races I ran in 33 minutes and something within 33 days of when I turned 11,111 days old.

This morning (Oct. 1, 2009), 11,111 days later, I ran more than six miles, but only at half the speed I ran about 11,111 days ago.

(c) 2009 by Hooknose McGee

America Is A Safe Haven For Dressers People Gave Up On

During the tenancy of every Housing resident, an inspection must be conducted. My sentiments about the painstaking work I did to clean up my apartment, and arrange my possessions in an orderly fashion, can best be expressed in the form of a poem, which follows.

This House Is Clean

I cleaned the apartment
What a chore!
Not just the veneer
But to the core
I scrubbed and buffed
Until my arms were sore
I got cleaning products
From the Dollar Store
It is so clean
It won't need cleaning anymore
I scrubbed every baseboard
And every creaking door
I washed the windows
And swept the floor
Will it stay spotless, evermore?
It may be trashed by the weekend
If not before


When the team of two inspectors came into my apartment on September 16, 2009 at 2:07 p.m., all appeared to be in order. They concluded their inspection at 2:09 p.m.

The real story of the preparation for this inspection began in 1988. That is when I first got a storage space. Over the years, I learned that if one has a storage space, one can acquire vast quantities of items, enjoy their observational value, and then hide them out of view in the storage space. Also, when one moves, one can just toss anything and everything in a few boxes and toss it in the storage shed. It can always be sorted out later. Well, that "later" turned out to be from July to September, 2009. I got all my stuff out of storage, and it amounted to about 100 boxes, as well as numerous printers, bicycles, paper cutters, stereo speakers, clothes and more clothes, office supplies, books, VCR tapes, cassette tapes, CD's, coin collections, coffee mugs, kitchen stuff, old papers, important papers, junk papers kept just in case they would one day be needed for some legal matter or other, old income tax forms, oh, and did I mention tools, tools, and more tools? I had some paint and paint brushes that I had in storage for years. All you have to do is shake that can of paint up, open it up with a screwdriver, and you are ready to paint wood, even if the paint was in storage for 5 or 10 years. Little details like combustible materials not being allowed in storage spaces should be overlooked during a time of intense personal emergency, when you need to build and paint furniture without the benefit of having an actual workshop, but all the work must be done in your actual apartment.

Just take a gander at the table I built from scratch. The chairs I fully refurbished. Do you realize that I used Plastic Wood to patch up 48 holes in those two chairs where countersunk screws had been installed? And for your consideration is this dresser that will be around and admired for the next 50 years or so. It was brown and had no knobs, but the knob holes were in the center of the drawers, and they are now all patched up. The top was very scratched and gouged. Before you take a dresser for granted, you should know its history, and learn how it did not start out as just another furniture show room pretty face. The full restoration was done entirely by me. Yes, with me around, America is a safe haven for old, abandoned, worn out and discarded dressers.

I have always believed each and every American citizen should have a minimum of five paper cutters. Why? Because they do not make them like they used to.

All the books I have collected amounted to quite a few boxes of books. I have every intention of reading a lot of these books. I just had to get the work out of the way first.

I have three entire boxes of software.

I also have good intentions pertaining to all the VCR tapes I have collected. When I see a good movie at a yard sale or thrift store, I grab it. One day I will get around to watching it.

I did not yet mention the more than 4,000 45 rpm records I have collected. They are now in 27 boxes. I also have quite a few 33 rpm records. As everyone knows, these items are no longer made. But sales are brisk at used record stores. The best records I have I consider to be a treasure.

After two months of hard work sorting all this stuff out into its proper categories, I do not feel like a better person. But I do feel like a more organized person. And when I die, whoever gets this stuff will be grateful for all the sorting out I did. Long live order and propriety, and may the days of slothful people, who clutter up the world and fool their bosses into thinking they are industrious, be cut short just as they are applying online for their Social Security benefits.

(c) 2009 by Hooknose McGee

At The 11th Hour, Does She Or Dozen She?

At The Eleventh Hour, Does She Or Dozen She?

Today, on July 8, 2009, or 07/08/09, at 34 minutes and 56 seconds after midnight, and also at 34 minutes and 56 seconds after noon, in all the World's Time Zones, it will be 12:34:56 on 07/08/09. But Princess Carol The Tenth will have the added distinction during those two seconds of being the reigning Princess Carol The Tenth. During our long and untumultous, and uneventful, 12-year engagement, Princess Carol The Tenth has not been kicked to the curb. Does she wish to continue her reign as Princess Carol The Tenth, and continue to wear the abstract crown she has symbolically worn since I asked for her hand in mirage in 1997, 12 years ago? At the 11th hour, Does She Or Dozen She? At 12:34:56 on 07/08/09, will Princess Carol The 10th, at the 11th hour, decide once and for all, Does She Or Dozen She?

The Red Telephone

I had missed Princess Carol The Tenth since the 1990’s. Truly, I had pined for her. Without her disapproving frown aimed in my direction, and her judgmental silence, something was missing from my life. Right after the special on the life of Michael Jackson last Wednesday night, I knew something had to be done. So I printed up some reward posters, “Ten Dollar Reward For Information Leading To The Truth About Princess Carol The Tenth.“ I had posted them on telephone poles all over town. I had carried my hammer and little tacks from the Dollar Store industriously and purposely up the Avenues and down the Streets they intersected with in my small Southern town with the four restaurants and three car repair businesses. I had gotten the tacking of the Reward Posters down to a science, and was able to attach a flyer to the telephone pole with seven swings of the hammer. Now, at 4:45 a.m., completely exhausted, I came back to my apartment and opened the back door quietly so the neighbors would not know that I was on another Princess Carol The Tenth downer, and had pulled an all nighter in a futile attempt to know one percent more about her than I had known the year before, and the year before that. The Red Telephone rang. I slammed the door behind me, and rushed for the red bakelite telephone with the cosmic connections to realms beyond. I desperately hoped someone had seen my Reward Poster about Princess Carol The Tenth, and was ready to reveal the truth. I checked my left front pocket to make4 sure I had a $10 bill.

“Hello,” I said, my heart racing. “Hooknose McGee here. How may I help you?”.

“Well, good morning, Hooknose McGee. This is Tirsa Adara.”

“Tirsa Adara?” I asked, puzzled. “Who are you?”.

“I am a wedding planner,” Tirsa Adara explained. “Princess Carol The Tenth has hired me to work out the kinks that have delayed her wedding for more than a decade, and so in order to coordinate the terms and conditions between the parties, I am now contacting you to make sure everything is in order.”

“Well, Tirsa Adara,” I said, with an air of confidence, “Things have always been in order for me. On the coldest winter days, I wear only one pair of socks. Unlike Princess Carol The Tenth, I do not get cold feet.”

“Oh, get real, Hooknose McGee,” Tirsa Adara said, indignantly. “Princess Carol The Tenth has had to wait patiently for 12 long years for you to make good on your promise to marry her. She was shocked in the first place when you said you firmly believe in 12 year engagements. Now, it was just yesterday Princess Carol The Tenth told me personally, the only thing stopping her from heading down the aisle is you sending her a two-carat engagement ring.”

“Tirsa Adara,” I said, feeling totally misunderstood. “I have endured much hardship for the sake of Princess Carol The Tenth. I have stood faithfully by her during the economic collapse, when it rained, during the Swine Flu epidemic, and through repeated attempts to get the gold Hall of Fame ring I earned by my noble deeds in January 1994. What I need for you to do, Ms. Adara, since you are the only go-between there is for the Princess and myself, I need for you to tell Her Imperial Majesty that when I asked for a 12 year engagement to work out the differences between us, her wealth and my poverty, her popularity and my obscurity, little details like that, I was buying time, it is true, and even though I asked for a dozen years, I really meant a baker’s dozen.” Donald Trump or Ted Turner could not have negotiated another year tacked on the end of the contract more smoothly than that, and I was beaming with pride.

“Well, Hooknose McGee,” Tirsa Adara admitted, with admiration in her voice, “When you put it like that, I can certainly see your point of view. No wonder Princess Carol The Tenth loves you so madly. You are smart and ain’t got no money, so she feels sorry for you. But you sure ain’t good looking. But then, opposites attract, I guess that is the only thing that can save this union.”

“Ah, ah, ah! Tirsa Adara!” I protested. “My humility, the hubris of Princess Carol The Tenth, and a two-carat cubic zirconium, with a one year grace period before Princess Carol The Tenth walks regally down the aisle, is what is gonna save this union. And I want you to remind Her Imperial Majesty that she groveled at my feet just outside the ruins of Princess Carol The Tenth Lunar Stadium on May 6, 2016. Have you so easily forgotten that Her Imperial Majesty crawled through a mile of glass and rubble just to grovel at my feet, so profound was her love for me?”.

“Well, I am sure it is a memory Princess Carol The Tenth will always cherish. So now, I ask you, Hooknose McGee, since you are determined to stay poor and live in a storage shed, when can we expect to receive that two-carat cubic zirconium ring in the mail?”.

“As soon as I get something missing from my life in the mail,” I replied defiantly.

“And just what might that be, Hooknose McGee?” Tirsa Adara asked curiously.

“The gold Hall of Fame ring JBQ should have had the self-respect to send to me a long time ago,” Hooknose McGee explained, disillusioned. “You don’t just let somebody push the button to save the world from economic ruin without calling him ’Honorable Mr. Secretary.’ And by the same token, you don’t just keep running your law firm without sending a gold Hall of Fame ring to the lowly employee who rescued the back-up tapes so you would still have a law firm, regardless of whether the earthquake pushed the building over or not.”

“I will humbly convey your sentiments to Princess Carol The Tenth,” Tirsa Adara said, in a subdued tone of voice.

“I would appreciate it, Ms. Adara,” I replied, frustrated that I have had to keep fighting for my right to wear a gold Hall of Fame for more than ten years. “You have a nice day.” Then I hung up the Red Telephone.

Picture of Princess Carol The Tenth on Island





(c) 2009 or 2016 by Hooknose McGee

$2 Coffee Mug In The Rain

The pictures above show: Doll Aurora (as it turned out that the picture she had faxed from her space module was of her daughter, Bennie Fitz); Janet Evans, the Olympic swimmer; the Santa Monica Bank coffee mug, full size and close up; and Dinah’s Restaurant, on the outside and on the inside, featuring the luxurious imitation red upholstered booth.

You may wish to read two or three previous posts to fully experience the drama and the suspense of Planet Earth being rescued by financial benefactors from another World.

I Propose A Toast To A Previous Post

Doll Aurora Calls Hooknose McGee On The Red Telephone
(posted June 1, 2009)

Duncan Crashes The Party
(second half of the June 1, 2009 post)

President Obama Names Secretary Of The Button
(posted May 31, 2009 post)

$2 Coffee Mug In The Rain

As the limousine drove away from the curb in front of Santa Monica Bank, Hooknose McGee turned to the Olympic swimming champion. “Janet, you were so far ahead of the other swimmers in your prime. I wondered if your records would stand up forever, but as they say, records were meant to be broken.”

Janet Evans came back with a witty remark. “And if you had not timed The Button push just right, and had drawn two seconds of interest, 190 cubic miles of one dollar bills would have come rocketing out of the sky, and broken a lot of the Record King’s records he has in his warehouses located around the country.”

Hooknose McGee laughed. “It would have hit with the force of a nuclear blast and taken out a lot more than record warehouses. It looks like you have been following this story on CNN for the past couple of weeks.”

“Yes, I have.” Janet Evans acknowledged. “Your background of having imaginary children and being strange, makes you one of our planet’s most likely candidates to be contacted by the outer space people. Now we, of all people, get the unique experience of meeting Doll Aurora. I hope we can be invited for a short ride in her space module.”

“I will not yet have recovered from meeting you, Janet,” Hooknose McGee observed, philosophically, “Before I meet Doll Aurora. We are almost at Dinah’s front door. Could I have your autograph before we get there?”.

“Sure thing,” Janet Evans replied. She took out a page of paper from her leather briefcase. It bore the letterhead of the Santa Monica Hyatt Hotel. She jotted some words down on the sheet of paper and handed it to Hooknose McGee.

Hooknose McGee read the written words aloud, “To Hooknose McGee, I hope you meet up with a girl from another planet who takes you home to meet her parents. Best wishes, Janet Evans.”

Hooknose McGee considered Janet’s bizarre suggestion, and commented, “And maybe this girl from another planet could co-sign for me to buy a space ship, and I could make payments. Every time I travel several light years away to visit her, I could bring back a cargo of diamonds or gold to pay for the trip.”

The limousine pulled into the parking lot of Dinah’s and dropped off the Olympic swimming champion and the Secretary of The Button. They walked to the front door, at arm’s length. Hooknose McGee opened the plate glass door and Janet Evans stepped inside, followed by her long- time secret admirer. They were seated by the hostess at a red booth.

The manager of Dinah’s, Abdul Rahmeen, came to their red booth. “Hello, Janet Evans,” he stated. The Olympic swimming champion smiled at the manager. “Hooknose McGee,” he said, “It is so nice to see you. Why have you taken so long to come back and partake of our fine cuisine? It has been 15 years since you last visited.”

“Well, actually, Abdul,” Hooknose McGee explained. “I was here for breakfast this morning. And what a scrumptious repast it was. But, of course, it had been about 15 years since I had previously been here, and I sure did miss my weekly trip to Dinah‘s and walking the shoe in the industrial area next door.”

“Well, I did not come to work today until 9:00 a.m., and everyone was watching The Button push on CNN on our large screen television. So I missed you this morning. You did a great job, and you handled the pressure well, from what I could see. I want to ask you for a favor, if you will be so kind as to provide me with a picture to put on our celebrity wall.”

Janet Evans’s face turned red, “What am I, Abdul, chopped liver?”.

Abdul Rahmeen turned to the Olympic swimming champion. “Janet, dear, liver is out of season right now. But can I interest you in a Dinah burger?”.

The manager looked at Hooknose McGee in anticipation of his reply to the request for a picture. “Well, Abdul,” Hooknose McGee replied, matter-of-factly. “You can go to my blog post, and in the left hand column you will find my photo. Right click on it and have it enlarged to 10 X 14 size and that will be suitable for your celebrity wall.”

A waitress in a yellow Dinah’s uniform with a white sash came to the red booth and said, “Hi. I am Earline. I will be your server today. May I take your order?”.

Hooknose McGee replied, “Janet has not been here before, so I will place our order. We will have three Dinah burgers, with tomatoes, lettuce, pickles and onions, extra onions, mayonnaise, Tabasco hot sauce, and Heinz 57 sauce. And for dessert, because we will have the Dinah burgers first while the pastry item is baking, we will have a large gourmet apple pancake toasted to a golden brown, with butter and maple syrup, and we will have three Dinah’s coffee mugs for coffee, and three glasses of water.” Earline wrote this all down on the order tablet, went to the counter in front of the 8 foot by 3 foot grill where two cooks were preparing 17 customer orders simultaneously, and attached the paper sheet to the carousel of metal clamps so it would be prepared in the order it was received.

“You must have been a regular here,” Janet Evans said to Hooknose McGee. “You have that order memorized word for word.”

“Well, Janet,” Hooknose McGee answered, “There is no place in the whole world quite like Dinah’s. Monday is all-you-can-eat fried chicken night. And the rolls they have are so tasty, they probably cause cancer.”

Through the large plate glass window of Dinah’s Restaurant, a strange-looking flying craft appeared in the sky, descending at a low rate of speed. It landed gently in the parking lot of Dinah’s. It was about 40 feet in diameter, pulsated with a greenish hue, and was etched in purple on the circular perimeter. A door receded upwards into the roof area, a set of small steps folded down to the asphalt-covered ground, and out stepped the visitor from another world. But she did not look like the picture that had been faxed to Hooknose McGee during his conversation with Doll Aurora on the Red Telephone. She was attired in an old-style dress with ornate sleeves, such as would have been worn by women in 1905.

Soon Doll Aurora joined Hooknose McGee and Janet Evans at the red booth. Hooknose McGee stood up, respectfully, until Doll Aurora was seated. Hooknose McGee was on one side of the semi-circular red booth, Janet Evans was in the middle, at arm’s length from the Secretary of The Button, and Doll Aurora was on the other side, at arm’s length from Janet Evans. Doll Aurora added cream to her coffee cup. Janet Evans spoke first.

“I like your dress,” Janet Evans said to the lady from a distant Galaxy, studying the antiquated, ankle-length, long-sleeve grayish cotton gown worn by Doll Aurora. “I notice it is historic, rather than contemporary.”

Earline appeared at their red booth with the three Dinah Burgers.

Hooknose McGee said to Earline, “Can I please have some Tabasco hot sauce and Heinz 57 sauce?”.

Earline replied, “I can get you some hot sauce, but it is not Tabasco brand. But the Heinz 57 is already on the table.” Then Earline left to attend other customers. The three began to eat their Dinah burgers.

Hooknose McGee said, “Doll Aurora, on our planet, we sprinkle on a couple dashes of hot sauce, a teaspoon or so of Heinz 57 sauce, stack up the extra onions, some salt and pepper and then, after three minutes of prepping the Dinah burger for consumption, we can actually eat it.”

“This Dinah burger is really quite good,” Janet Evans said.

“I haven’t had a meal like this since I stopped at a Galaxy 158 light years away and went to the Dinah’s there,” Doll Aurora said. “Janet, you asked about my dress not being contemporary. Well, at the time I began my journey to Planet Earth, it was contemporary.”

“Doll Aurora, may I ask you,” Hooknose McGee inquired, “Why is it that the real you does not look quite like the picture you faxed to me?”.

“Well, the picture I faxed to you was of my beautiful daughter, Bennie Fitz. I wanted you to think she was one of my 114 sister clones, but she is a laboratory-enhanced mutation sent to earth by laser beam 25 years ago, before I arrived here to rescue your planet from economic collapse. But she has the same giving spirit that I have.”

“I just knew Bennie Fitz was Heaven-sent,” Hooknose McGee commented. “She sure helped me a lot. Because of Bennie Fitz, I was able to eat and have a place to stay, and get a clothes line to hang my clothes that I got at the thrift store out to dry. Thank you for sending her into my life.”

“You are welcome, Hooknose McGee,” Doll Aurora replied. “My journey to Earth from Kalkuhl 8 began in 1905, Earth time. I put on the dress that was popular at the time.”

“But, Doll Aurora, if you cannot exceed four times the speed of light without getting a ticket, would it not have taken you at least 1.89 million years to get here, since your Galaxy is seven and a half million light years from Earth? How could you shorten that trip to just 104 years, and how do you stay young looking after the passage of such a long period of time?”.

“Hooknose McGee,” replied Doll Aurora, “I have a time accelerator on my space module. It can maneuver the space module through large clusters of time through the modification of light frequencies. And during the journey, I am in a soundproof pressurized glass booth, in a state of suspended animation, so I only age a couple of weeks during the entire trip. I was awakened by the space module auto-pilot system a few thousand galaxies away from Earth in order to send the genetic code of my daughter Bennie Fitz to arrive 25 years ahead of me.”

The manager of Dinah’s, Abdul Rahmeen, brought a 10 X 14 photograph of Hooknose McGee wearing a dark Olympic sweatshirt to the red booth where the three guests were enjoying their Dinah Burgers. “Hooknose McGee, my office manager printed out a copy of your blog picture. Will you please autograph it before I add it to our celebrity wall?”.

“Sure,” Hooknose McGee replied. “Janet, can I borrow your ink pen, please?”.

“Yes,” Janet replied, handing over her Sharp ballpoint pen. Hooknose McGee scrawled on the color picture, printed out by inkjet printer, “To Dinah’s, where the food is always out of this world. The Secretary of The Button, Hooknose McGee.”

Earline brought the large gourmet apple pancake to the red booth and cut three slices, placing the serrated cutting knife on the table beside the large porcelain plate. The large gourmet apple pancake was toasted to a golden brown and had a strong aroma of brown sugar and apples. “Janet, you need to drown this in maple syrup,” Hooknose McGee advised, drawing on his 13 years’ experience of pigging out at Dinah’s that were ended by thousands of miles and poverty.

“Doll Aurora,” Hooknose McGee stated, “I love you for your money.” Doll Aurora gave no visible response, but seemed to be really enjoying the large gourmet apple pancake drenched in maple syrup. She took a long swig of coffee from her white porcelain coffee mug with the Dinah’s monogram emblem etched on it.

“Do you love me, Hooknose McGee?” Janet Evans asked, concerned. She had a sense of trepidation that when the post-Button Push celebration meal was over, Hooknose McGee might leave with Doll Aurora on a long space flight, leaving Janet Evans to wait on tables for two years to pay for the hazardous materials team to clean up the site of the space ship landing.

“Janet, I love you with agape love,” Hooknose McGee said calmly. “I will always have a place for you in my Olympic scrapbook. But my love for you could never compare with how much I love large gourmet apple pancakes from Dinah’s. Olympic champions are cranked out by the dozen, but there is only one Dinah‘s.”

“Ah ah ah!” admonished Doll Aurora, waving her finger from side to side in the newsletter editor‘s face. “Hooknose McGee, look at me!” Doll Aurora ordered sternly. “Didn’t I tell you there were 70,000 branches of Dinah’s Restaurant within 28 light years of Earth? Huh? Answer me, you dyslexic Button Pusher, you!”.

Hooknose McGee felt genuinely scolded, and cringed in the red booth. He put down his fork, and spoke in a quiet timid drawl, “Oh, darn, I forgot about that. But you know, Doll Aurora, we people of Planet Earth need constant supervision. I mean, look at how many big red stop signs we have. People would not know how to go from one block to the next if there was no sign there directing them what to do.”

Just then, the President of Santa Monica Bank, Henry Kaspryak, accompanied by JBQ, came to the red booth where the three guests were enjoying their large gourmet apple pancake. Through the large plate glass window, rain could be seen cascading down from the sky in torrents. The two visitors to the red booth were dressed in three-piece suits. Mr. Kaspryak said, “Doll Aurora, we were facing some tough years ahead before our global economy recovers. Thank you very much for going on a very long trip through space to bring us 24,353 trillion dollars. I think we can get back on our feet now. As a token of our appreciation to you and the Universal InterGalactic Bank for reaching out to the people of Earth, it is our honor to present you with this plastic card imprinted with the name 'Doll Aurora' which is a lifetime pass to any Dinah's anywhere in the Universe. Also, we would like to present you with this Santa Monica Bank coffee mug with a $2 bill encased in the transparent wall."

"Thank you, Mr. Kaspryak," Doll Aurora said, her eyes lighting up. "This lifetime pass to Dinah's will really come in handy."

Mr. Kaspryak bowed to Doll Aurora, and then turned his attention to Hooknose McGee. "Honorable Mr. Secretary, on behalf of a grateful nation and Planet, and in recognition of you successfully pushing The Button and rescuing the World from economic collapse, it is with great pleasure that I present you with this small token of our appreciation.”

Mr. Kaspryak handed the award to be bestowed on the Secretary of The Button over to JBQ. JBQ sat the award on the edge of the table, and said, “Honorable Mr. Secretary, we know you did what you did out of duty, and not for material gain. So there is no sense in giving you a trillion dollars out of the 24,353 trillion that accrues to our struggling Planet. Instead, we show our gratitude by presenting you with this commemorative Santa Monica Bank coffee mug with the newly-minted $2 bill encased in the transparent wall, which is identical to the one we presented to Doll Aurora.”

Hooknose McGee, caught off guard and trying to be modest about following the rehearsed plan precisely as he sat nervously in front of the Red Button and the Green Button, stated humbly, in much the same manner that Jim Thorpe had answered the King of Sweden after winning the Olympic pentathlon, “Thanks, JBQ.” JBQ and Mr. Kaspryak bowed cordially to the three guests sitting in the red booth, and quietly left the dining area.

“Congratulations, dear,” Doll Aurora said.

“I will never forget you,” Janet Evans said, reaching for another delicious bite of the large gourmet apple pancake.

“Do you mean me, or the pancake?” asked Hooknose McGee, feeling insecure.

“Why, the pancake, of course!” Janet Evans replied, laughing.

“Doll Aurora,” Hooknose McGee asked, hoping for a guided tour of Doll Aurora’s space ship, “Will you please give Janet and I a short ride in your space module? Maybe we could land on the moon and see what space travel is like.”

“I will be happy to take you on a round trip to the moon,” Doll Aurora stated, proud to show off the advanced technology of her home planet.

Just then an announcement came over the intercom of Dinah’s Restaurant, “Attention in the Dining Area! Will the owner of a large green and purple space ship from another Galaxy please remove your vehicle immediately? Your parking lights are on and your space ship is taking up nine parking spaces!”

Hooknose McGee exited the Red Booth and walked over to the Dinah’s Karaoke Stage. He picked up the microphone. “Testing. Testing. Ladies and gentlemen, can you give it up for Janet Evans and Doll Aurora?” Hooknose McGee said, pointing to the Red Booth where the two famous women were seated.

The audience applauded reservedly. A murmur echoed around the restaurant, something to the effect of “We have heard of the blithe and bonnie swimmer Janet Evans, but who is Doll Aurora, and why is she staring back at me like that?”.

Abdul Rahmeen dimmed the lights in Dinah’s Restaurant. Hooknose McGee began to sing the altered lyrics of an old gospel classic.

Amazing Glaze

Amazing glaze!
How sweet when browned!
And so divine to eat!
Dinah Burger with fries
No matter who buys
Makes the meal complete!

A purple and green
Flying Machine
Landed in Westchester Town
It brought the truth
To a red, red booth
Dressed in an heirloom gown

At Dinah’s front door, I
First saw Doll Aurora
She did not give me a hug
But Santa Monica Bank
Found two people to thank
With a plastic $2 mug

Amazing glaze!
How sweet when browned!
And so divine to eat!
If you find truth
In a red, red booth
Please save me a Seat!

The mystery of what happens to left over hamburger buns after the hamburger and ketchup is consumed was solved. They were thrown at Hooknose McGee as he replaced the microphone on its stand and returned to the Red Booth to rejoin Janet Evans and Doll Aurora.

Doll Aurora summoned Earline to the red booth. “Here, dear, is a $1000 Kalkhul 8 gold coin with the image of the National Clonery on the front as a tip for your excellent service. Can I please have a take-out container for the small amount of apple pancake that is left over? Thanks.”

“I will be right back with a doggie bag,” Earline replied with a smile, clutching the gold Clonery coin tightly in her palm.

(c) 2009 by Hooknose McGee