If  I was a beutiful young girl competing in the Miss America contest and one of the judges asked me what I would do about world hunger, I think I say simply, give everyone some food, and then I would start laughing like Woody Woodpecker, grab my crotch and moonwalk like Michael Jackson. Top that one girls.

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  I've got a check to cash at a local big corporation bank, and every time I've dealt with this bank I've bumped heads with the lifer, battle horse, war hardened lady tellers. Today's different, there's nineteen fidgety  people in line, of all shapes and sizes and one eighteen year old recent high school graduate, with terror written all over her face behind the counter. I don't care; I'm looking good in my semi new sweater.  An elderly lady in front of me is perplexed at the perceived extended wait, she probably doesn't buy green bananas, I understand. Then, out of nowhere, a young gentleman bank guy walks up and asks what he can do for me, I look at the rest of the people in line, and they are looking at me, I feel like a deer in the headlights. I relay that the lady in front of me was here first, he looks a little confused but offers to take care of her and myself if we will follow him. I'm standing there waiting for grandma to finish her business, when the bank manager sidles up, you know, you look to your side and some ones standing there way inside your personal space "How can I help you sir?" Well I just have a small check to cash. Please follow me sir, damn, I haven't had this kind of service at a fine restaurant, "sir, would you like to sit here", well sure, I'm thinking, could you get me a Martini, shaken, not stirred. He takes my check and ID, and disappears to the back, the assistant manager whom has been sitting across from me observing, is suddenly intensely interested in my life, what he doesn't know is that, I don't have a job, no income, and no life, but what I do have is a $120.00 sweater that I bought for a song from some dead guy's relatives. For some strange reason, it impresses the daylights out of these people, God, I love this country. The manager returns hands me my I.D., cash and proceeds to explain that normally his bank charges five dollars to cash a check if you don't have an account, but he is going to waive the fee. Hell, my bank of fifteen years won't even do that. As I exit I notice the line has gotten longer, I'm out of here but I do know one thing, I've got my eye on an Armani suit, and this is the first place I'm going to wear it.    

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THE FIFTH COLUMN

                            Seattle, Washington 12-24-2013

                    The Suburban Terrorist, Me

It became too much, two businesses, one marriage gone, no time off, stress, aggravation, I give. So I sold, now I’m bored, I’ll relax for a while and regroup. Damn…. I’m bored.

  I’m driving down the main drag of the burb I live in and pass a small shop that is being rehabbed for a future unknown tenant; it’s late in the day, I’ll stop and see what they are doing with it, no ones there. I notice a local police squad car sitting across the street I presume looking for speeders, Looks pretty good, I get a brainstorm, I think my ideal will work, I check out the window facing the busy street, looks ok, I check the side window, it’s getting dark but can still see that it will work, damn it’s cold, I think that I will become a useful member of society tomorrow by renting this lonely Charlie Brown building and turn it into a local retail dynasty.

That being said, I’m going home and plot my strategy. I put my stylish shoebox shaped Volvo in reverse, look in my rearview mirror or and….damn, there’s a car blocking me in, wait, it’s the police car, did I forget my FOP donation?

  Stay in your car, small towns finest yells, I look over, he looks like Barney Fife from a planet with much too much gravity and way to many donuts, then waddles up to my car and demands “what are you doing here, duh, looking at this building? You’ve been watching me for ten minutes, why do you ask? Have you been drinking? No, then why are your pupils dilated? Well, I really didn’t want to get into a physiology lesson but you see officer, when it starts to get dark your pupils dilate in order to gather light so “you can F@$#*^% see. Oh.. then…. let’s see your license, registration and proof of insurance. I’m going to have to get out of my car and check the four drawer file cabinet in the trunk to find the volumes of documents you require, it’s cold as hell at this point outside, just stand beside my door officer for another few minutes and you will look like one of those Swedish ice sculptures then this Spanish inquisition won’t be an issue, anyway Napoleons prodigal brother steps back to the warmth of his car, runs my info, comes back to my door and tells me I’m free to go, thanks Mr. Hamburgler.

  As I drive off I realize how extraordinarily pissed off I am, I’m going to the cop place and complain, as I step up to the fortress that protects the local burb cops from serial check kiters and yard toilet paperers I request the officer in charge, as I begin my 30 minute wait I look for something to read, there it is, hanging on the wall is a plethora of educational brocures, keep kids off drugs, support schools, report your neighbor, but, one jumps off the wall……..what you can do to help prevent terrorism….I’m thinking, elect a new police chief.   

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                    John Wayne and Grandpa

 I was always fascinated by John Wayne. I’m not sure if it was his self confidence, his perceived ability to control his environment or the shear fact that when you watched him on the big screen, he seemed invincible, He was ten feet tall, when I went to see him at the Saturday matinee, at 11 years old. John didn’t need super powers, phasers or steroids to make this boy admire him, he had “swagger”, The dictionary defines swagger as to “walk with a defiant or insolent air”, That was John Wayne, but I think even more important than all that, was his commitment to his personal values, and it showed on screen. Now I’m not sure how much of his screen persona and his personal life collided, but I do feel qualified to comment on how a regular guy’s public and private life collides from time to time. As a man you’re told, “never let’ em see you sweat”, you hardly ever saw Big John sweat, even when facing gangs of assorted gun slingers, hell I sweat waiting to see my restaurant tab.

   There was another person that gave me that same feeling of self confidence, that control over my environment and destiny, that swagger if you will. He wasn’t tall like John Wayne, he didn’t have Mr. Wayne’s distinctive “dog walk”, and in fact he was of average height, slim build, relatively soft spoken, and had kind of an Errol Flynn thing going, mustache and all. Some of the things I admired were, like Mr. Wayne, he took shit from no one and lived by his own personal code. A personal program that some men of an earlier time developed and honed, a lifestyle that I don’t see much of today. Work hard, make your own rules when possible, take care of your own, and my favorite, “play hard”. And play he did. He was infamous for his female dalliances in the small town where he lived, even the minister alluded to it, at his eulogy. Hell he died at eighty nine years old; no one was left to get pissed off or bring up the past, concubine, jilted husband or lover alike, he outlived them all. I remember him telling me wild tales of his exploits, never once doubting them as being gospel; he taught me how to hunt, fish and set an example for living my life on my own terms. Sometimes I feel badly that my sons never knew him. I didn’t agree with everything he stood for, but I smile whenever a John Wayne movie comes on because I knew a John Wayne that wasn’t an actor.

If a man is his own worst enemy, then how do you explain about the time the the Martians attacked earth and turned us all into mindless zombies existing only to do their evil bidding, no wait a minute, that wasn't us, never mind.

STEVESALTEREDREALITY

They say Fight fire with fire, that’s probably why my house burned down.

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If you're being chased by an angry bull, and then you notice you're also being chased by a swarm of bees, it doesn't really change things. Just keep on running.

Jack Handey