Because he actually believed that she might kill
him--he did not know enough about earth people to
believe otherwise--Xtery (Smith) Xudd planned to sleep
the night in the cellar deep below the house.

Muduud and Bdudd confronted him there in the late
hours of the evening as he puzzled over a Max Brand
novel.  An attempt to relax.  In the three years since
discovering the western writer whose real name was
Frederick Faust and who aspired to be a poet, Xtery
had collected 168 novels and had read all but three.

Xtery hypothesized that Brand, like Alexandre Dumas,
was a fiction factory.  Dumas--known as the writer of
"The Three Musketeers," "The Count of Monte Cristo,"
and, he claimed, hundreds of other novels--actually
had up to 20 people working for him at one time or
another and no one today could say for sure what was
written by Dumas and what was written by one of his
"assistants."

Brand had produced at such a voluminous rate--more
than 300 known novels and countless short
stories--that it was impossible to believe he was only
one person.  Yet, he'd evidently churned out this
massive amount of words before the age of 51; he'd
been killed in World War II on the Italian front while
serving as a correspondent for Harper's magazine.

"Child's play again," accused Muduud, who knew about
his hobby and looked down upon it.

"Leave him alone," said Bdudd.

But Xtery knew that he would really not get much
sympathy from the vivacious and charming little
Verdidiun.  She always had a hidden agenda.

Muduud, however, obliged by turning away, as if
ignoring the entire matter and especially the stack of
pocketbooks on Xtery's desk.

Muduud had always been dominated by the little female.

Personally, Xtery was tempted many times to tell her
to take a flying dive at a donut.  But Muduud, on the
other hand, never seemed to mind her bossiness.  In
fact, he seemed to appreciate it, although, of course,
Xtery was never sure about this point.

"What are you trying to prove now?" Bdudd asked.

"Nothing," admitted Xtery.  "This is merely one that I
have not read.  I have been...saving it."

"An escape mechanism?"

Xtery nodded.  She read him even better than he read
Max Brand.

"Yes," he admitted.  He was reluctant to admit this to
her, much less to himself.  Why should he need to
escape?  Was she also right about this love thing for
Starr?  In the presence of Starr, he had admitted this
thing called love to himself.  Away from her, he was
now not so sure.

"What is a computer doing here?  Why should you need a
computer?" Bdudd asked.  "Have you lost your math?"

There she was again.  Questions.

Xtery scoffed.  Asking that of a Tarrmellian was
virtually an insult.  Most Tarrmellians were a
computer.  Unless, of course, because of the result of
some maiming accident.

"I'm inputting these novels."  He gestured at the
bookcase with its varied Max Brand novels.

"But why?"

"Research," he said.  "Merely research."

"Couldn't you do that without a machine?"  She seemed
aghast at the idea that he might not be able to do
something so simple.

"Yes.  Of course.  But the computer allows me to look
at various things over a long period of time.  To muzz
them."

"Some people know how to specialize in wasting time,"
accused Muduud.

"This is rhetorical criticism," explained Xtery.  "A
hobby.  Anyway, the type of rhetorical analysis I'm
doing would be too consuming to do mentally.  I seem
to have a lot of other things to think about lately. 
Like UFOs."

"Ouch," said Bdudd.

She looked at a framed holographic projection of
Starr.  Then glanced purposely at Xtery.  It was an
obvious maneuver to shift the subject.  The little
Verdidiun was a master technician at controlling the
topic of any conversation.

Xtery, however, was reluctant to discuss his personal
life with either of the two Verdidiuns.  Although, of
course, to discuss something with one of them was to
discuss it with both.  Neither had personally met
Starr.  No formal introduction.  He had never dared
during the days he and Starr had dated.

The Verdidiuns had observed her, of course.

Xtery once sensed both of the Verdidiuns hiding on an
awning, invisible, when he was walking with Starr
along the beach in Port Soller, Mallorca, on their
honeymoon.

He had kept Starr secret until then.  Or so he had
thought.

Lately, he had arrived at the conclusion, though it
often seemed like a silly idea, that while he was
watching earth, the two Verdidiuns had been sent along
on the assignment to watch him.  It fit in well with
his theory of watchers watching each other hither and
yon throughout the universe.  Balance and counter
balance.

"Some secret," Bdudd had said later about Starr,
miffed at him.  "You were preening around about her
like some strange bird.  We realized that you were at
least infatuated over some silly little earthling.  I
must confess, however, that she is cute.  We never
gave you credit for having that much taste."

Because that was partially an insult, Xtery had
decided he would never apologize about not introducing
the two Verdidiuns to Starr.  Let the two of them
fret!

Anyway, the pair of Verdidiuns were always interfering
in his life; he'd had wanted something of his own.

Was a secret actually a possession?

Even now, he was reluctant to share Starr with Bdudd,
whom he personally considered flighty in more ways
than one.  No pun intended.  Unfortunately, at the
moment he had no one else with whom to talk about
Starr.

"She said she would kill me," he said simply.

But it was not a simple statement and Bdudd was silent
for a moment as she analyzed all of the ramifications.

"Perhaps I should talk to her," she finally said.

He, too, thought for a moment before answering.

"No.  I'm afraid it would merely make matters worse,"
Xtery said.

"She know about us?"

"Yes.  Inadvertently, I mentioned you.  I hadn't
intended to.  She...this whole situation has me
befuddled."

"I'm willing to talk to her.  Woman to woman."

Xtery thought the idea somewhat ridiculous.

"No."

"Let me," said Muduud, who, although he had his back
to them, had obviously been listening.

"Definitely not," said Xtery.  "Not this century."

Muduud whipped around, nodded intently at Bdudd as if
it were a command.

Muduud commanding Bdudd?  This was a new idea to
Xtery.  But he didn't have much time at the moment in
which to consider it.

"I'm sure you...you are hurting about her," said
Bdudd.  "And we hate to disturb you.  But we have a
more-pressing problem."

"The UFO nonsense," chirped Muduud.  Immediately, he
turned his back to them again as if he didn't really
consider the matter of much importance.

"What now?" Xtery asked Bdudd.

"The UFO incident has expanded on us.  The U.S.
government has launched an investigation," she
replied.

Xtery gave the matter some thought.

"I find that difficult to believe," Xtery said. 
"There was an investigation in the 1960s.  The
decision was that UFOs did not exist.  Although there
was another flap about a secret test site referred to
as Area 51.  The decision was quite correct.  There
are no UFOs, per se.  It doesn't seem logical that
they would suddenly change their minds."

"Something new has occurred," said Bdudd. "We don't
know what it is.  Nor how it happened."

"Just a bunch of fanatics flitting around," said
Muduud without turning back to face them.

Slowly, Xtery put the Max Brand novels back on the
shelves of his bookcase beside his desk.  They were in
alphabetical order by title--"Danger Trail," "Dead or
Alive," and "Destry Rides Again" from which at least
three major movies had been filmed, including one with
James Stewart, another with war hero Audie Murphy, and
a third as a musical with Andy Griffith.  He
personally thought there might have been even more
movies made from that particular novel and hoped to
track them down soon.  There was a rumor about Joel
McCrea starring in a film based on the book.

Xtery was only interested in the westerns of Max
Brand.  Probably, he realized, his intense love for
the southwest was parlayed in there somewhere.  Max
Brand, one of more than two dozen pen names used by
Frederick Faust, had also written mysteries, spy
novels, romances, even one science fiction novel, and,
of course, the Dr. Kildare series.

He rubbed at the wrinkles he suspected etched on his
forehead.  Was that a headache?  He'd never had a
headache in his life.

"Am I...and I realize this is a rhetorical question,
Bdudd, ugly or anything like that?  You do not have to
answer if the question bothers you."

She was a woman, though, and he thought she would
probably know something like this.  But could he trust
her opinion?  That, he did not know.

"You are not ugly," she said.  "I don't think you
dress very well, but...."

"What do you mean, I don't dress very well?"  His
feelings were hurt.

"A suit?  Old-fashioned.  Un-hip, they would say here
on earth.  Stone-washed Sasson jeans would be more
appropriate."

"But I would feel uncomfortable without a tie and
jacket," Xtery said.

"Makes you look old," Bdudd insisted, wagging her head
from side to side.  "Not with it, Xtery.  I, of
course, sew all of the clothes that Muduud and I
wear."

"Would clothes alone cause her to hate me?"

She hesitated.

"I don't think so," she finally said.

Muduud whirled around on them.

"But is hiding down here in this dungeon any answer?"
he harped.  "Are you going to stay down here the rest
of your life?"

"This is not a dungeon," said Xtery.

He'd carved this area out of the rock himself--one
large room for his study, two smaller rooms, one
opening on the vast cavern that led off in a westerly
direction.

He'd installed an holographic projection system so
that three walls revealed a very pleasant panoramic
view, live, of the Rio Grande with its breath-taking
cliffs in Big Bend National Park of Texas.  When he
turned the system on, it was like sitting outdoors at
a desk on a high hill.  Once, a deer had crossed the
slope and disappeared in a bound among the tall pines.

His desk was a plate of glass hung in space; he'd
frozen it in place by the far wall.  The bookcase was
carved in the rock.  His chair was a huge chesterfield
rescued from a deserted mansion in Bar Harbour, Maine,
and refurbished.

Many times, he'd wanted to tell Starr about this
study, to bring her here.

But he had not.

Now, he never would.  Tonight, he would sleep on the
stone floor in a sleeping bag he'd borrowed from a
sporting goods store out near the Five Points area of
El Paso.

"But you're afraid that you may have to.  Because of
her," said Bdudd.

"I can't seem to think very well when it comes to
Starr," Xtery admitted.  "I don't know why.  This is
something I need to learn about myself."

"Perhaps there's a bonding like that between myself
and Muduud."

"With an earthling?"

"Do I sense prejudice?"

"You know better than that," Xtery told her.  "I
married her, didn't I?  It's an earth custom that is
physically binding.  Legally binding as well here on
earth.  It would take another earth custom--called the
divorce--to dissolve the relationship."

"Will you divorce her?" Bdudd asked.

"Bdudd and I can never be divorced," said Muduud. 
"Our binding is physical and emotional."

"Under the circumstances, divorce with Starr would be
highly...inappropriate," said Xtery.

They did not ask why.  He was glad they did not. 
Various things would be very difficult to explain to
the Verdidiuns.  And, come to think of it, even more
difficult to explain to Controller Xtarso Divhuud.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Muduud.

"At the moment, there's not much I can do about
Starr," Xtery admitted.

"I mean about the UFO nonsense."

"How did you learn about this UFO investigation?"
Xtery asked Muduud.

"Newspaper," said Muduud.

"Television," said Bdudd almost at the same time.

Xtery was mildly amused.  So there was a slight
difference--even, occasionally perhaps, a slight
disagreement--between the two Verdidiuns.

Immediately, Xtery switched on the holographic system
and focused on the broadcast of a local television
station in El Paso.

"Try the news channel," said Muduud.

On the all-news channel, a commercial about beer had
two guys diving into a purple sea under a golden sky
and swimming out to a violently-yellow odd-shaped
rowboat loaded with beer.

The element of fantasy.  No purple sea existed on
earth.  Certainly, no golden sky.  The commercial was
not significant unto itself, but it still bothered
Xtery.  He did not know why.

Then, a pretty girl who was obviously more of an
actress than a newsperson, explained about why the
president of the United States wasn't going to comment
about the latest terrorist attack.

"You'd think he'd at least have an opinion," said
Muduud.  "But he never does.  I think he's a vacuum
mind.  Face, but no brain."

Xtery ignored Muduud.

Bdudd, however, was not the type anyone could ignore. 
She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Terrorists again.  There must be an epidemic," she
said.  "And someone should cure it."

"This is not like any headache," Xtery said.  "No
aspirin big enough."

"They are only misguided people.  People can be
handled," insisted Bdudd.

"Not so," said Xtery.  "Terrorism is the newest
technique of war without declaring war per se.  The
terrorist hides in open view in the day.  The
terrorist is your next door neighbor or the girl who
sells you a malt at the local Dairy Queen.  At night,
they come out with automatic weapons and explosives. 
It is the most chilling form of war yet invented,
because it combines the explosive terror of the Irish
bomber with the fear of uncertainty.  It is almost
impossible to stop simply because one doesn't know who
to stop."

"Because the enemy is usually us, in the vernacular,"
said Muduud.

"Right," Xtery said.

Bdudd was fiddling with the doorknob of the door that
led into the cavern.  The innate curiosity of any
Verdidiun was legendary throughout the universe.

"Would you please stay away from that door," he said.

"Why this door?"

"You must stay out of the upstairs of the house for
the now.  And I would prefer that you stay out of
there."

He knew, of course, that either--or both--of them
could easily pop into the cavern, but also knew that
they would probably not.

"All you do is tell us don't," pouted Bdudd.

"It seems that way.  Yes."

"We don't get to do anything."

"I will give you something to do.  Go to the
conference of the military advisors. "

"Won't that just make matters worse?"

"Invisible.  Invisible!"

"Of course," said Bdudd, separating the words and
giving both extra emphasis just as if Xtery hadn't
thought about it.

She glanced at Muduud.

Immediately, they popped out of view.

Xtery scanned the house above.  Starr was sitting
again in the easy chair in the living room.  She held
a book in her hand, but wasn't reading it.

Xtery tried to read a paragraph or two from one of the
Max Brand novels.  He could not read either.

And TV proved boring.  Rather, he was too nervous to
pay much attention.

He shut the system off and popped to downtown El Paso.

It was late.  Near midnight.  But the sight of several
couples strolling arm in arm along Mesa and Mills, by
San Jacinto Plaza, made him feel even more melancholy.
 A faint breeze brought the smell of sulfur from the
mines, a smell that he hadn't noticed in months. 
Boxcars clanged in the distance from the direction of
the railroad.  At one time, he'd enjoyed all of these
earthy smells and sounds.  Now, however, they
irritated him.  Without consciously realizing it, he'd
stopped before a vacant store.  He stood as if in a
daze.

There, on an alley wall, he saw the sign about
destroying lizards.  A few minutes later, he noticed
another sign.

The graffiti was everywhere!

With a sinking feeling, Xtery--who had earlier
dismissed the possible implications of the word
"lizard" when talking with Starr--realized who they
meant.

(continued next week)

Sometimes, especially in radio back when radio was
really radio, falling in love with an idea was about
the same as falling in love with a beautiful woman. 
Neither one made a hell of a lot of sense.  On the
other hand, there wasn't much you could do about it.

Pete Battistini, who obviously loves radio, fell in
love also with an idea and decided to try to do
something about it.  And succeeded.  Thus, he has just
compiled and written and edited a book about "American
Top 40," the radio program that featured Casey Kasem
much of its life.  More than 370 pages of program
contents, memos, notes, whatnots, and passion!  There
are even "reflections" from Tom Rounds, president of
Watermark, the production firm, and the show's
executive producer.  Ron Jacobs, too, the co-creator
of the show back in his KHJ, Los Angeles, period.  And
Casey, who came up with the concept.  And his partner
Don Bustany. 

This is the real meat of the program.  Absolutely
fascinating!  Absolutely part of not only the history
of radio, but a valid part of Americana.  Guarantee
you!  Pictures, playlists, history!  A collector's
item for radio buffs.

The book was obviously a labor of love for Pete
Battistini, a fan.

I don't know the price on this book.  You'll have to
email Pete about that and how to get a copy.  His
email address is: AT40@aol.com.

Friday, the legendary Burt Sherwood,
bohica1@comcast.net, was in town to watch his
12-year-old grand daughter in national gym competition
at UNLV and, in spite of the chaos around him, came
and had coffee/tea with Barbara and me at the Coffee

Bean on Maryland across from the campus.  What a great
delight just to bask in the presence of someone like
Burt.  He spoke of brokering low-power television
stations, he spoke of living not far from Herb Oscar
Anderson and visiting with him on occasion, he spoke
of how well Bill Hennes is doing with
AllAbourtCountry.com, and many other things in a
barrage of words.  Hey, once a Top 40 jock, always a
Top 40 jock!   Yes, I know he once managed WMAQ in
Chicago.  But once a Top 40 jock, always a Top 40
jock.

Laurie Gershon, LGGersh@aol.com: "Hi, Claude--I did a
Google search for the artist Sal Ingeme and your site
came up.  Do you know anything about him?  I'm working
on a film and need to get permission to use one of his
drawings in the background."

I wrote Laruie back that I thought Sal was a record
man and copied both Bill Pearson, the
illustrator/collector, and Tom Noonan, a former
Billboard buddy and record man.  Bill didn't know Sal.
 But Tom Noonan knows everyone!  Thus, this note below
to Laurie.

Tom Noonan, Tenoonan8@aol.com: "Hi there, Laurie:  Sal
Ingeme is/was a promotion man in the Boston area for
Columbia Records for many, many, many years and he is
always a great artist.   I have one of his artist
renderings as well. You can reach Sal @ (781) 938-8529
or write to him @ 200 Bedford Road, Woburn, MA
-1801-3927.  I do not think he is on the internet but
I could be wrong--but I do not have an email address
for him.  Sal will be happy to talk to you--a great
guy who did wonders in record promotion all of his
life, retired from Columbia Records after about 30
years or so there. Glad I could help.  His drawings
are truly great."

Then I got a note from Laurie saying thanks.  Hey, Tom
did all of the work!  But isn't this sort of a nice
thing to happen to Sal.  I hope we eventually find out
the name of the movie.

Tom earlier had sic'd me onto Lefstez@aol.com and
through that list, I made contact with Bud Prager
after more than a dozen years.  Bud, once partner with
Felix Pappalardi of Mountain fame, and I go back more
than 40 years.  Back when Felix produced the three
Cream LP masterpieces and invited me into the studio
one evening when he was working on a segment with Eric
Clapton.  Bud, just FYI, was one of my early teachers
about the music industry.  He was/is a major player,
i.e., Bad Company, Foreigner, etc.  I wrote to bring
him up to date and this came back:

Bud Prager, Esprager@aol.com: "all in all doesn't
sound too bad...i've been lucky since way back...hard
to believe but true...but i miss the action...now just
a dabbler...my son has done well...he's a vp at island
but even he misses the music...how about the cream
reunion??? i guess eric finally decided to give them a
break...anyway, i'm here so give a call if you come
this way...i haven't been to vegas in years...stay
well."

I just remembered a great Bud Prager story, but I
think I'll save it for next week.

Also heard from Vince Cosgrave, 702-459-8387:  "Maybe
I found you.  I thought I'd seen you a couple of times
at Vegas events.  Got this address from your column. 
We haven't broken bread since my Capitol days during
CMA 1988?  I was waiting for my people to have
breakfast.  We had the noon show.  Mike Maitland ran
into the coffee shop late for his morning MCA show,
saw me, came to the booth and asked, 'Why didn't you
wake me up?'  When I explained that he had fired me
six months before, he replied, 'I never should have
done that'.  I agreed and you appeared in front right
after and asked who was at my table.  I responded
'Mike Maitland' and you, wisely, waved me off.  Mike
asked who you were.  I said, 'Just one of my people'. 
Mike said, 'Well, I've missed my show.  Can we have
breakfast together'.  So many road stories!  We all
have them.  There should be a book; but then everyone
would want a promo copy, right?  If you ever want to
chew the rag, call me.  I've been here since 1989, but
want to get back to my City by the Bay within the next
two and a half years.  Funny thing:  All of a sudden
I'm working with the sons of famous fathers with who I
worked in my previous life.  How old does that make me
feel?"

Also heard from Ian Wright, ianshome@iinet.net.au, a
radio man in Australia, and we were discussing a radio
guy here in the U.S. who had a spam blocker up.  This
particular guy didn't appreciate my politics a while
back and asked to be removed from my list.  Which I
did.  I was only doing a blanket email every four or
five months anyway.  No big deal.  But it's funny that
he now has a spam blocker up to eliminate everyone. 
Guess he thinks he's important.  I emailed Ian back
that George Wilson doesn't appreciate my politics
either, but he still talks to me and he's worth about
a hundred of the guy who has the spam blocker up.  The
Aussies are not going to like you very much, spam
blocker.  Australians are among the friendliest people
in the world.  Good friends, too!  Hope I never get
one for an enemy, though.

Then I get this note from George Wilson,
KeokiWC@aol.com: "Subject: 'Hero'.  We rented your
movie...you owe us $1.95 U.S. currency."

Whups!

Guess I plugged the movie "Hero" a little too much,
eh.  I emailed George and his wife to rush out and
rent "Secondhand Lions" and we'd call it even.  I
watched "Secondhand Lions" again yesterday (my son
Andy bought a copy) and still love the film.  Robert
Duvall is great; did you people see him in "Tender
Mercies?"  Or "Joe Kidd?"  Of course, I'm also a
sucker for just about all of the John Wayne movies. 
"Stagecoach," "Hondo," "The Angel and the Badman,"
"She Wore a Yellow Ribbon," "Rio Grande," "The Quiet
American," etc., etc.  A lot of movies, I can watch
over and over again.  Don't know how many times I've
seen these and also "Casablanca."

Robert no name, HttRobe7@aol.com: "I'm looking for 
airchecks of cris conner of wnap or major tom
lewis and scott wheeler of wife radio from the
middle  70s im wondering if you
have any airchecks from indianapolis?  email me back."
 
I follow orders real well.  Sent him in the direction
of Reel Radio.

I alerted Ted Atkins about last week's Commentary and
got this back:

Ted Atkins, kruzers@msn.com:  "Thanks for the memories
of playing record trivia with Mike Curb.  Mike was
president of MGM Records at that time and later, of
course, became Lt. Gov. of California.  I played the
game with Bill Drake and others often during my L.A.
stint.  Even Casey Kasem who was the absolute best,
bar none.  I was married in 1971 and, while PD at KHJ,
the Wall Street Journal and the L.A. Times ran
front-page stories on how Curb and MGM paid for my
honeymoon in Hawaii which was ridiculous. It all
started because Clive Fox (my best man) was a VP at
MGM at that time and went to Hawaii with us.  Much ado
about nothing.   I remember the old Vox Jox days and
when you failed to mention me in a column I'd get
calls wondering if something was wrong.  The power of
the pen, huh?   I hope you and your family are happy
and healthy.  Best of luck and thanks again for
thinking of me.  All is AOK on this end. Getting ready
for my stepson's wedding in Florida in April and then
we're all going on a Caribbean cruise together.  Just
looking forward to it gets us through the Pittsburgh
winter.  Karen and I do a cruise or two a year and
just love it.  Your friend for life."

Jim Rose, rosekkkj@earthlink.net: "The talk about
'Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White' and PEREZ PRADO
brought about fond remembrances. Cherry Pink made the
rounds with quite a few Big Bands, plus other artists
for several years. In 1961, JERRY MURAD's HARMONICATS
had Cherry Pink on Columbia Records. Peaked at
only #56 on Billboard's Hot 100, but lasted 8 weeks on
the chart. Of course, we all remember PEREZ PRADO's
RCA Records smash in the summer of 1958. 'Patricia'
sailed to #1 on Billboard, remained on the hitlist for
21 exhilerating weeks. PRADO's fabulous reed organ,
plus his Rock beat band caused our car's wheels to
surge faster on the highway. Fun times.   ROY HEAD was
and still is a very talented and diversified talent.
ROY's dancing feet put JAMES BROWN to shame. 'Treat
Her Right' peaked at #2 around Thanksgiving 1965.
Should've been #1, but that boy from south Texas had
stiff competition from the BEATLES, ROLLING STONES,
SONNY and CHER and the SUPREMES. Each had #1 platters
during that same period which clobbered other
top talents' fine tunes. You mentioned that after ROY
slammed a home run record, you felt that he
might've snubbed you on one occasion. Could've easily
happened. When fame comes fleetingly fast to a boy
from back home, it seems everything and
everyone overwhelms you. Kinda difficult to handle all
that at once. As we mere mortals tend to do, ROY
momentarily did got the big head after his huge hit,
but mellowed into the seventies. Many recording
artists of the fifties and sixties tended to
be cheated out of what was rightfully theirs by
unscrupulous managers and record labels. Thank
GOD that has changed dramatically.  ROY's a great guy
with more natural gifts in his pinky finger than a
dozen who are on today's music charts.   Thank you for
the plug of my website Jim Rose Remembers...Radio.
LARRY SHANNON, who owns Radio Daily News, teases my
site every Friday with a direct link. The amount of
response still has me flabbergasted. Began as just a
word or two about the 35+ Texas radio stations which
carried my voice since 1964 and the many wonderful
radio people involved. Have just about witnessed
almost everything which can happen at or to a radio
station and its deejays. So many fine radio people
along the way all over Texas. Can you believe that
Friday's edition marks 36 continuous weeks?   You
mentioned that a Google of my name would bring the
site upon the screen. Well, there is a JIM ROSE who
has a famous Circus show and another who is a Chicago
TV sportscaster. Those two leap to the top of the
list. One of my sites is somewhere toward the middle.
Computers never cease to amaze, delight and perplex. 
If you add the word 'radio' to my name on the Google
bar, both of my sites spring up at the top. The
easiest way is to add the address to your favorites
list.
http://home.earthlink.net/~rosekkkj/jimroseremembers/ 
Spend every day of the week writing, adding, and many
times deleting verbiage. Usually by late Thursday
night is when I finally publish the site. Another
thing to remember is from time to time I do update the
present day's offering, plus some of other ones, too.
It's always best to click 'refresh' to make sure you
are driving the latest model.    See you in the funny
paper."

You do a Claude Hall Google and you bump into a guy
out of Oklahoma who does gun shows.  I received an
email from a gun show customer complaining about
getting ripped off (he thought) at one of the gun
shows.  I emailed him back that I do not deal in guns.
 Hey, I had to fire an M1 pencil to quality for
overseas shipment.  And I can't fling a hand grenade
far enough to get out of the way.  Damned good with a
bazooka, though.  The major problem is that you don't
see many job openings for bazooka shooters. 
Fortunately, I picked up another skill or two.

OTHER MATTERS
The war in Iraq has no meaning.  Nothing is being
solved or cured.  We cannot win it and now we cannot
end it.

The bodies continue to pile up.  Ours.  Theirs.  Just
numbers on a sheet of paper in the Pentagon and in the
White House.  Glanced at.  Soon forgotten.  Buchenwald
doesn't know blood; he is not a real soldier; he is a
toy soldier.  Of wood.  Not for him stripping an M1
down in the dark of night while sitting in the rain
and mud.  Bombs exploding.  Bullets singing their
deadly song much too near.

The word death dares not enter the White House.  It is
caught on the front steps and chased away with a
rotten broom.  He doesn't dare go over to Dover and
see what it's like.  War.

Truth also has no meaning.  Buchenwald declared the
war over long ago with an absurd "photo opt" on an
aircraft carrier.  Now he declares the election in
Iraq on January 30 a success and three marines and
some others were killed the same day.  More were
killed later. Evidently, "success" doesn't really mean
success.  Buchenwald talks democracy.  What he means
is death...someone else's death.

But the real truth--and I will tell you no lie--is
that he cannot stop the war now.  If he actually
wanted to stop the war.  War begets war.  Plans no
doubt exist in the White House to invade Iran.  Syria.
 Maybe even Israel.  Hell, we had definitive plans
long ago for the invasion of Russia.  I knew one of
the people who picked targets.

Buchenwald now needs war.  If you think the United
States has problems at the moment--people out of
work...the sick...the hungry...the homeless--you
haven't seen anything yet.  Some reap rather well
financially from war; others suffer.  And not just the
ones who are killed and lose an arm or a leg.

The problem with war, you see, is that it needs a war
economy to support it.  A war economy is vastly more
expensive than a peace economy.  First, you need the
best public relations (expenditures for public
relations doubled last year at the White
House)--mostly propaganda tactics--to convince a U.S.
population that it's okay to kill women and children
as well as those men who dare to fight back...those
misbegotten people called "insurgents" who think you
are invading their country.  Then, of course, you've
got to maintain a larger army.  And replace those
troops who're killed or horribly injured.  And somehow
you've got to replace the bombs and bullets that are
used killing the enemy men and women and children
mentioned above.  And changing factories over to a war
effort is expensive.  Tanks instead of refrigerators. 
The costs soar.

Then, of course, there are specific public dangers
inherent in a war economy.

First, you're going to soon hear the term "tighten
your belt."  What they're really saying is that you're
going to have to do without.  This does not mean that
they, whoever they are, intend to do without.  Just
you.

Second, you're going to hear the term "brave" and "for
your country."  Those who get killed in combat are
called brave.  Whether you wish to die or not, it's
the "brave" thing to do "for your country."  What do
you mean you do not wish to die?  Coward!  He shells
out a few more dollars for the children left without a
father.

Third, you're going to hear an increasing howl that
certain people in the United States are unpatriotic. 
They do not like war.  They protest the deaths.  In
fact, if you even say anything negative about
Buchenwald, you're unpatriotic.  Look what happened to
the Dixie Chicks if you need an illustration.  But
there have been others.

Fourth, individual rights disappear as the executive
branch of government supersedes its granted powers
beyond limits of the Constitution, the legislative
branch rushes to change the Constitution, and
meanwhile the judicial branch seeks to change the
traditional meaning of the paper; it virtually becomes
meaningless.

Fifth, the entire philosophy of a nation that rushes
to war without just cause changes for the worse.  The
mood shifts down.  Smiles disappear.  Dark faces grow
like somber shadows.  Neighbors quickly don't like
their neighbors.  Everyone adopts an attitude of "I'm
for me and to hell with you."  Road rage increases. 
Protest rallies erupt.  Lawsuits of various kinds
increase.  Quality of food and products deteriorate. 
Decent medical care is almost impossible to obtain. 
Roads develop more potholes.  Houses and yards fester
and turn brown from lack of care.  Cars breakdown. 
More shootings on the streets downtown.  Bank
robberies increase.  Thefts increase in department
stores and especially in grocery stores.  The sun
doesn't shine anymore.  Hate becomes a deadly flower. 
And a nation falls.