The DEVIL made me do it

Here's my post on the New York Time's Wordle Review comments for yesterday.

Wordle 984 3/6

⬜⬜⬜⬜🟨   496 WL

⬜⬜⬜🟩🟩        1 WL

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

WordleBot

Skill 99/99

Luck 57/99

Streak 735

Wordle players of a certain level of maturity (read: “old, like me”) may find themselves thinking about comedian Flip Wilson for the first time in a while today.

Guess #1 provided only the E (out of position) and almost 500 remaining solutions.  But Guess #2 showed me that the word ended with —IL.  I thought of PERIL first — but realized it couldn’t be the solution (since no R was present).  But I was a lucky DEVIL, as it seemed only one possible solution remained for Guess #3 (“Hope you guessed my name!”).  All the letters turned green and I was Under Par a fourth straight day.  I tied The Bot and bested the (current) NYT avg by almost a full guess (3 vs. 3.9). 

Take care and stay safe.

Jim Styro's CO-MAS-19 Update, 2020-12-25 (The Photos of Christmas Past, Part 4)

Merry Christmas to All!

Since we've reached the big day, I going to keep this (relatively) brief.  I know (hope) you've got better things to do.

Today, I will present the earliest Christmas pix that I could find in my collection.  I was three years old (three and a half, I'm sure my 1966 self would want pointed out) and I believe these pictures were taken at my Grandma Wyatt's house.  Before I get to the Christmas photos, let me show you her picture. 

This photo of my Dad's Mother, Mena, and younger sister, Jeanine was taken in 1970.  As you probably surmised, Jeanine (age 24) is on the left.  Mena was 63 and would die the following year of emphysema.

Now let's get to Christmas 1966.  We're at my Grandma Wyatt's house with Dad's older brother, Don, and his family.  Don (age 39) is in the picture at the lower left with his eldest son, Don Jr. (he's about 7) and daughter, Susan (she's about 5) on the couch behind him.  You can also see the back of my head.

In the picture at the upper right, I am more prominently featured in my blue Christmas sweater.  I'm interested in the toy vehicles, Sue appears more interested in the television.

My Uncle Don's children were (and are) good-looking people - so they deserve a closer look.

And now I will offer evidence of the good-looking genes they inherited.  

First, a picture of my Aunt Yukie from the same Christmas visit, sitting with Grandma Wyatt.

And now my Aunt and Uncle together circa 1955...

They have now been married over 65 years!

Thanks to everyone who let me know that they enjoyed these pictures.  I intended to encourage folks to send me their favorite Christmas pictures in response - but I kept forgetting to include that request till now.  But it's not too late to send me a Christmas present.  All I want is your picture.

Take care and stay safe.

Jim Styro's CO-MAS-19 Update, 2020-12-24 (The Photos of Christmas Past, Part 3)

 Welcome to this special Christmas Eve edition of The Photos of Christmas Past.

In our little hopscotch through time, we jump now to 1996 and an apartment in Wheaton, Illinois - where we find some of our usual suspects below...

Here's the scorecard.

Front row, seated (left to right) -

• Sister #1 (age 29, married to the dude standing behind her - but let's not rush that introduction...)
• The Girl (age 7 and unwilling to be parted from her Beanie Baby puppy for the photo shoot)
• My Mom (age 52, mouth open to offer words of encouragement, instruction and whatever else comes up.  Hey - I am descended for a long line of loud people.)
• Sister #2 (age 26 and all growed up from yesterday's photo.  She and my Mom were living together in the Wheaton apartment at this time.)
• My Bride (age 33 - so I'm not using the Middle-Aged Woman moniker)
• The Boy (age 5; that boy knows how to smile for the camera)

Back row (left to right) -

• Sister #1's Husband #1 (age - unknown to me; my recollection is - he liked to cook and he wasn't around that long)
• My Brother (age 32; moving to Chicago with my parents in the summer of 1982 was one of the best things that ever happened to my brother.  It got him away from all the ne'er-do-wells in Detroit that he had been hanging around.)
• My Brother's Bride (age 27, she's one of the other best things to happen to my brother)

I have to admit that I don't have any vivid memories of this particular Christmas visit.  During this period, we were adhering pretty strictly to our Thanksgiving/Christmas travel rotation in order to split holiday time between My Bride's family and mine.  That is:  one year we would spend Thanksgiving visiting my family in Illinois - and Christmas at home.  The next year we would flip and spend Thanksgiving at home and Christmas in Illinois.  

My Bride's recollection from this particular visit was that Sister #2's boyfriend at the time decided to pick Christmas as the time to break up with her (His loss - the fool!  You can never trust a guy named Jim...)

Anyway, I know what you're thinking - Where are YOU, O Narrator?  I was taking the picture, I expect.  But just so you don't feel cheated, I will include a second, non-Christmas photo that includes Yours Truly.

Why this particular picture you ask?  Well...

#1 - It was taken in relatively close proximity to the Christmas photo (within about two months) on the occasion of the kid's birthdays - so you can just mentally paste me into that other picture.  This one was taken at our home in Redford (about a mile from the home of my Bride's Mom and Dad) where we lived for 21 years.

#2 - Along with The Boy and The Girl, this photo features Hank, my Bride's Father (age 71 in this photo).

#3 - You can begin to piece together the relentless progress of my hair loss by comparing the photo from earlier this week and today.

I think I've run out of interesting stuff for today.  

Jesus is coming again tonight, so get ready!  You don't want to miss it.  And Santa, too.  I hope they don't run into each other in the chimney.  And that they're wearing their masks. 

Take care and stay safe.

Jim Styro's CO-MAS-19 Update, 2020-12-23 (The Photos of Christmas Past, Part 2)

 Without any further ado, here’s today’s Christmas photo -

I will once again provide some guidance on who's who in this happy-looking group.  From left to right in the front row, let me present:

• My Brother (age 6, with his picture-taking grin.  My brother and I are less than a year apart in age (both June birthdays; him early, me late) - and sporting the same hippie, fringe vest.  I have no recollection of this article of clothing and have to assume it was my mother's idea of progressive fashion at the time.)
• My newborn Sister #2 (only a couple weeks old; of the entire group, she seems the most appropriately dressed for the holidays.)
• Me (age 7 - and as good-looking as I'm ever going to get.  That looks to me like a real smile, ladies and gentlemen - not just a "picture smile".  Unlike my easy-going brother, I felt the need to button that shirt ALL the way up.)
• My Sister #1 (age 3, and also sporting a sweet & natural smile.  She seems to be in possession of a doll designed to look exactly like her.)

Let's go off on a momentary tangent and take a closer look at that pair -

Now, in the back row:

• My Mom (age 27, she looks quite happy.  Perhaps feeling relieved with the premonition that she has delivered her last child and won't need to go through that again.)
• My Dad (age 26 - apart from his newest daughter, the only one not smiling for the camera.  Maybe he's just thinking about where he's going to find cash for the presents anticipated by his growing brood.  Or maybe he's rethinking the tie he picked out.)

This shot was taken in the living room of my childhood home on the west side of Detroit (near Plymouth Road and the Southfield Expressway).  Please note the prominent "rabbit ears" TV antennae in the background. That is some serious video technology.

Christmas is almost upon us - so hopefully I'll be able to come up with some worthy pictures for the rest of this week.  I'm feeling the pressure.

In other news, the headline for this item at the CNN website made me laugh in a juvenile fashion -

Russian opposition leader Navalny poisoned through his underpants

I think any time the word "underpants" is used in a news headline, it is funny.  I know it's a serious business, poisoning, and the guy nearly died - but I just imagine the editors discussing what term to use in the headline -

"Briefs?  No, that word has too many alternative uses."

"How about Jockey shorts?"

"No, we can't use any name-brands!"

"Underpants?"  Everyone giggles.

"Ok, I guess we go with underpants..."

That's it for today.  If I don't pick the picture for tomorrow soon, I'm going to fall behind and miss out on sharing a new photo for Christmas Eve.  And we can't have that.

Take care and stay safe.

Jim Styro's CO-MAS-19 Update, 2020-12-21 (The Photos of Christmas Past, Part 1)

Long time no see/write/read.

Only true if your sole contact with me is via blog or email.  In the past 7 months, I have proved myself The King Of Zoom (or at least, like, the Archduke).  Much of the year has been spent walking a tightrope between frustrating seclusion and irresponsible interaction.

No 'Vid here, so I must be doing something right.  I hope - think - pray...

Anyway, I read in my daily New York Times email update about someone that had decided to share a daily Christmas photo with friends & family.  I may have included some unsuspecting bystanders by posting on the Internet.  But I don't think the readership on my blog is too extensive.

So here's my first foray into The Photos of Christmas Past - from good ole 1991!

If you're reading this, you either know or can make an educated guess at the individuals pictured above - but I'll provide a bit of assistance for the uninitiated.  From left to right are:  

• The Girl (a couple months past her second birthday)
• The (not yet) Middle-Aged Woman [heck, not even 30...]
• Yours Truly (oh Hair, we hardly knew ye!)  [I am currently a little more than twice as old as pictured above.]
• The Boy (fresh out of the oven, so to speak.  A little over two months old - and wondering why he got stuck with Dad...)

This was taken in the living room of our first home on far west side of Detroit.  We had spent several years of renting in Dearborn and Detroit after the nuptials.  

While preparing this post, I noticed a small frame on the wall behind us in the picture (between the Christmas tree and my big head).  It's a needle-point which my loving Bride prepared for me many moons ago.  Maybe it caught my attention because - at this very moment - I only need to raise my eyes from my computer monitor and slightly to the left to see it more clearly on the wall just a few feet from where I'm sitting...

One more thing - I have completed a new addition to my Jim Styro's Christmas Collection mix of favorite holiday tunes.  Here's the cover graphic - and I will include a link for anyone interested in downloading an iTunes rip of these Christmas Collections.

Here's the link:  Jim Styro's Collections

The first two disks were created in 2007 with a Sacred Side & a Secular Side.  'Cause I'm multi-faceted.  And stuff...

I'd love to write more stuff - but I can only be interesting in short bursts.  Hopefully, I can be interesting again tomorrow.

Take care and stay safe.

Blogging Blackmail

So while cleaning up stuff I leave lying around the house recently, my old lady my lovely wife, the Middle-Aged Woman, came across an antique Father's Day card that the Boy (at the time of the card's creation not yet twelve years old) made for me.



Ah, yes! There's nothing quite like the lechery of an eleven-year-old...

I find the old card on my desk the other morning - where she's left it to pique my interest. And when she sees me, the first words out of her mouth are:

"So, did you see that Father's Day card I found? 'Cause if you're not going to blog about it, I AM."



[Don't worry - if you click on the picture, you can see it nice and big.]

Right - like she doesn't have enough time and material to blog about her own stuff without ripping me off!

So I promised myself that I wouldn't do any blogging until all my employees year-end reviews are done (which they are not). But threatened with the treacherous wench's this blackmail, I have relented momentarily.

Let's hope nothing else good blog-worthy happens until my reviews are done.

Take care.


PS: Miller Lite? ICK!

RTT: My Random Past

Here's some stuff I found in my Franklin Planner from 1996. To provide some content (which, of course, should be unnecessary for a bunch of random sh*t - but I'm going to do it anyway):

• The Middle-Aged Woman and I had been married for ten years.


• The Girl was 6 years old; The Boy, 4 - he started pre-school on January 9


• I had worked for the Internal Revenue Service for nearly 13 years - and didn't know that I would be changing jobs before the end of the year.

That's enough d*mn context...

Jan. 4:

MAW put The Boy is his room for misbehaving. Entering his room to serve penance, he yelled out, trying to summon venom in his high-pitched four-year-old voice, the worst epithet he could muster -

"YA BIG BUTT!!"

and slammed the bedroom door. [We still laugh regularly about that incident.]

Jan. 11:

I figure there are two kinds of talkative people: the kind where a quieter person thinks "I wish I had said that" - and the kind where a quieter person thinks "I wish he'd SHUT UP!"

You want to be the former.

March 10:

If something is "good" only because it is new, then it will likely only be good while it is new.

March 26:

If a person is not willing to do something, then it doesn't much matter whether they are able to do that thing. You must be willing to act.

May 9:

A candidate for "The Biggest Lie You Can Tell Yourself"- Nothing I do will make a difference, will make things better.

June 5: (Editor's note - I titled this one, "Useless Thought")

All of the reasons a woman can give for not having sex boil down to the same reason - she didn't want to.

July 7:

Today, The Boy road his bike without training wheels for the first time. It finally shamed The Girl into trying.

August 13:

While donating blood today, the volunteers told me that my blood is so "clean", it can be given to infants during surgery.

Sept. 6: (Editor's note - I titled this one, "A Warning")

You don't have to "try to be" what you ARE.

[For example: "I wasn't trying to be [insert quality here]." Mean, silly, good ]

What you ARE always becomes APPARENT.

Oct. 29: Eleven days after his fifth birthday, The Boy ran into the corner of a half-wall in the hallway of our house. Before he could become aware of the damage done to himself, I got a towel on The Boy's head to hide, if not stop, the bleeding. I sternly instructed The Girl to not give any impression to The Boy how badly he might be hurt* and we were off to the Emergency Room. The Boy ended up needing 4 stitches to close up the wound in his scalp. When he hair is cut short, you can still see the scar. Both The Girl and The Boy acquitted themselves admirably in this episode.

Nov. 29: My last day working for the Internal Revenue Service.

Dec. 2: My first day working for Perot Systems (my current employer)

Dec. 22:

"Daddy, why are you naked?" - a question posed by the The Girl at 7:55 am on Sunday morning.
(Editor's note: I wish I could provide some context here - but I got nothing. Maybe she walked in on the MAW and me...)

PS: And since we're talking about nudity - and I've previously mentioned my statistical tracking of sexual activity in my Franklin Planner during certain periods of my marriage - I noticed a DRAMATIC increase in activity around the time of my career change. Hey - maybe I've been going about this all WRONG...

Hope you found this "Blast from the Past" interesting.

Take care.

A serious mistake*

"If you only come face to face with your own mistakes once or twice in your life it’s bound to be extra painful. I face mine every day – that way they ain’t usually much worse than a dry shave."
-- Capt. Augustus McCrae (in Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove)

I love that book. That's not the mistake part - I talk about that later in the post. But it seems appropriate to quote the character of Gus McCrae on the topic of mistakes because we share a common trait that seems to get us in trouble: sometimes we just refuse to take serious stuff seriously.Listen to how McMurtry phrases it:

"It was the kind of lapse [Gus] had been subject to all his life: things that were clearly dangerous didn't worry him enough."

My particular brand of this character flaw is highlighted by inappropriate attempts** at humor.

Mistake #1: I still remember vividly sitting in a meeting with the Assistant Division Chief during the later stages of my thirteen-and-a-half year stint with the Internal Revenue Service (that wasn't a mistake either - don't rush me). I didn't know the guy very well - but well enough to realize that he wasn't exactly a fun-loving sort in the office. I don't even remember the specifics of the incident that well - but I do remember one thing: I tried to make a joke in the meeting that was neither appropriate or funny. And I remember another thing even more clearly: As I returned to my office, kicking my own @$$ as a propulsion system, I promised myself I would - from that time forward - refrain from making jokes during meetings with superiors at work.

I've kept that promise pretty faithfully in the fifteen or so years that have passed. It's a pity I didn't expand the promise to cover situations outside the workplace -- until later.

Mistake #2: Once again, my memories of the incident I am now about to describe are not very distinct. (I'm sure that's my convenient defense mechanism against guilt. It's one of those experiences where I remember it now more based on the story being retold multiple times - rather than remembering the incident itself.) I think this occurred in the early Nineties (when the kids were quite small) - but I could be off by five years in either direction. Anyway - this story shares a lot in common with mistake #1 above - except this one's considerably more egregious.

The Middle-Aged Woman got robbed at gunpoint one night in a store parking lot several miles from our home. She was in a state of shock as a result of the incident and stopped in at her brother's home to get her head together before coming home. She contacted the local constabulary from her brother's place - and they treated her like the criminal. Apparently, for suggesting that armed bandits were operating unimpeded by their donut-chomping @$$es!

Suffice it to say: MAW had a rough night.

There's a lot of stuff about that night I don't remember. It may be that I was waiting for her to come home with some supplies I needed to complete work around the house; I can't remember whether I knew about what had happened before she arrived home or not. It doesn't make any difference. It also doesn't make any difference that I had my car broken into some months prior and had my Franklin Planner (and other stuff) stolen - but you'll understand why I mentioned it in a minute.

So, when Snoplum finally walked through the door and told me what had happened, I replied:

"Well - now we've both had our planners stolen."

Not: "Oh my God, Honey! Thank God you're safe."
Or: "Come and let me just hold you"
Or even: "Let's have sex - that will make you feel better"***

So, I have revealed to the world (again) that I am a sh*theel.
And I have (rightfully) never been forgiven for that night. Nor do I expect to be. But I have gotten better at avoiding inappropriate remarks.
I do this by keeping my mouth shut.
Except for that night when someone called the house claiming I'd been kidnapped...

Look - I'm done talking about my mistakes. For now.


Take care.




*Today is the one-month anniversary of "speaking in CAPS". I've been able to post every day for a month! Readers and listeners will have to decide for themeselves if that has been a mistake.
**"Attempts" is the key word here. The slightest hint of success would have been a welcome mitigating factor.
***You can see I still haven't lost the ability to make this sort of mistake, can't you?

Prong Buddies

[Pictured in 1981, from l. to r., Paul Joey, Paul Johnny (seated), Jim Charlie, Jim Styro (seated)]

I believe in keeping commitments. And I did promise in my very first post that, over time, I would explain the different monikers I have acquired over the years. Since the only one I have explained so far is Captain Dick, I thought it was about time to do some more divulging.

So today, I will tell you about the origins of that name by which I am most widely known - Styro (or, Jim Styro "if you're not into the whole brevity thing"*). Of course, it's impossible to tell that story without talking about my Prong Buddies - and it's appropriate that I speak of them today, since it's my BFF Jim Charlie's birthday today.**

Before high school, I did not have many friends.*** (I'm not looking for sympathy.) I wasn't a complete outcast - but I was...unpopular amongst my peers. I was tall and uncoordinated and smart and a loner - and I don't think I found other kids my age that interesting anyway. This situation persisted well into my sophomore year of high school****, when I tried out and got a part in the chorus for Bishop Borgess High School's spring musical.

Involvement with the theater crowd at my high school quickly transitioned into involvement with the competitive speech team - and soon I had friends. The core of these friendships was built around the aforementioned Prong Buddies, four guys named Jim and Jim and Paul and Paul. In retrospect, the things that we had in common were few. We were smart, we weren't afraid of public speaking, and we weren't on any sports teams. But if you had tried to find four young guys at BBHS (which, at that time, was the largest Catholic high school in the state of Michigan - with about 3,000 students) with more definite and distinctive personalities, it would have been difficult.

I haven't told you much about the Prong Buddies - but you know enough for me to finish the story. (Don't worry - if I keep this gig, you'll hear more about them. If you're interested...) The practical difficulty presented by four guys hanging out all the time with only two names to share between them is: what to call one another. Just "Jim" and "Paul" aren't enough. But we were smart boys. We decided right away to use first and middle names to provide the desired level of specificity. So...

James Charles... became Jim Charlie, and
Paul John.......... became Paul Johnny, and
Paul Joseph....... became Paul Joey, and
James Stewart... became Jim...Stueyy?

Whether you've never heard this story before - or you've known it for years - isn't it just obvious that something is wrong there? Oh, we tried to make the whole Jim Stueyy thing work. Jim Charlie concocted the whole screwy "EYY" spelling thing (Hey, "Stewie" is just as bad - if not worse) to try to make the whole thing palatable. But I think we all knew that my name was not quite right.

Then one day, we were lunching in the cafeteria when some food service supplies were being delivered - plates, cups, plastic utensils and the like. On the side of a big box of styrofoam cups, Jim Charlie saw the word STYRO emblazoned in huge red letters.

"Hey, you're Jim Styro", he said. And he was right.

I feel very lucky that Jim and Paul and Paul are still among the best friends I have. Or ever expect to have. And that I still get to see them and talk to them frequently (although I really have to stay on Groucho's ass sometimes. Sorry, that's another nickname, another story, and another post.) Not everyone gets to hang on to their friends for so long.

That makes me a lucky Styro. Hope you had a great birthday, Jim Charlie.


Take care.


*in the words of Jeffrey Lebowski.


**First off, I can hardly believe I used the abbreviation BFF (nothing says "I talk like a 15-year-old girl" quite like BFF); second, by the time you read this his birthday will be over - but you can hardly blame me for that.
***Doesn't everyone seem to say that? Aren't there any writers or artists who were extremely popular in their youth?
****By junior year, Mom was concerned enough with my seeming lack of social success to ask me if I was gay. Of course, she was unaware that I had already lost my virginity at the hands of...Damn - no wonder I haven't tried to tell this story yet. It gets complicated. I've got enough material for about 57 posts. (This is my last footnote - the rest I'm just leaving out.)

Blogging:The writer as exhibitionist

[Here it is - the one I've been making you wait you've been waiting for!)

Why a blog? That's really the question, isn't it?

I could have picked almost anything to suck up all the spare time I didn't have (Facebook, Internet porn, rewatching old episodes of The West Wing). But I picked this. Why? Why?!

Well, if you'll hang on for a minute - I'll try to tell ya.

First - I enjoy writing. The first creative writing assignments I remember were in elementary school, fourth or fifth grade. Because I am a pack rat, I still possess some of my earliest efforts.

The assignment was to take a picture from a newspaper or magazine and write a story based on the picture. (Some of you may remember being asked to do something similar in school.) I had the same teacher for fourth & fifth grade, Mrs. Smith. She liked me - and she liked my stories. She was so proud of my efforts, she had me take my stories to other classes and read them aloud. [Note to self: This may have contributed to your nerdy reputation and isolation from elementary schoolmates.]

The enjoyment and pleasure I receive from writing has continued on from that time. In my younger days, I wrote poems and songs too (lyrics mostly). After graduating from college and going to work full-time, my creative writing output dwindled to nothing but the occasional letter. But nobody loves to crank out a humdinger of an email more than me!

Although I work with computers, my current customer is a law firm - and being able communicate effectively in writing is important in that environment. Frequently, when there is a piece of correspondence coming out of our department that will be seen by all our users, I'm asked to do some "wordsmithing".

Anyway, that's enough d*mn bragging.

Clearly love of writing on its own does not explain blogging. As a friend of mine, the Phantom, said recently:

"I can understand a journal or diary. But why would you want the
whole world to be able to see that sh*t?" (Or words to that effect)

My answer is pretty simple. I guess I'm egotistical enough to believe that somebody might:

• Be interested in what I think and say, or
• Enjoy the way I write, or
• Be entertained, be moved, be exposed to a new idea (or a different view of an old one)

Despite the provocative title, I'm not really in it to shock anyone - or to reveal my deepest, darkest secrets to people I don't (and, in some ways, can't possibly) know.* Like most other bloggers, I have a few readers who know me "up close and personal"** (or, as I've put it previously, who "get to see my live show") - but most wouldn't know me from Capt. Dumbass*** if they met me on the street. So, if I can make a few new friends (even if I may never meet them)...well, the world could do with a bit more of that, in any case.

Mostly, I think I do this because I enjoy it. It stretches me. It makes do something I like to do - and probably wouldn't do otherwise. Maybe I'm just trying to slow down time a little.

When I was fourteen, I wrote a poem that started with the lines:

When I was a kid
the stop at the stoplight
would take a thousand years.
And Christmas didn't come
but once a lifetime.

Now I have grown
(not all that much)
and I'm behind the wheel.
Now stoplights don't last
any time at all.

I'm glad I wrote that down over 31 years ago (WTF!?). I'm glad I wrote this too.

Take care.

*I have another whole post (or two) I intend to write on that point - but I have no idea when I'm going to write them.
**If you knew me, you'd hate me.
***a) he's my blogging hero; b) if the Sharks don't get their act together, Vancouver may get a one-series reprieve from getting spanked by the Red Wings

Portrait of the blogger as a young man

(or "Things found looking for other things")

Tonight, I started a post about my motivations for blogging. That post has no hope of being finished tonight. It has no hope of being finished because, in the process of composing it, I decided to find an example of my earliest creative writing, stories that I wrote in fourth or fifth grade. Now, since this "replacement post" is all about digression, let me digress.

I'm a packrat. I keep stuff. My wife (the lovely and talented MAW) hates that. But since I keep ( most / a lot / some ) of the stuff well-hidden, I've been able to hang on to most of the important stuff.

And tonight, I took a trip down memory lane looking for those stories. Oh, you know I found them - but I found some other great stuff in the process. And let me now share just a couple choice bits with you.

That's right - take a gander at the MAW in 1983!

(As pictured, I guess she would be the UAW* or something.)

She's quite the beauty! But what is she doing with that skinny guy with the bad hair?

Oh - wait. That's me. Well, as you can see, I at least had hair in 1983. A great deal of it in fact - but poorly maintained. On the up side, I only weighed about 175 pounds.








Now isn't that sweet? I'm attacking her on camera.

It's kinda hard to tell whether she's smiling or grimacing, isn't it?

For the sake of (what remains of) my ego, I choose to belive that she was enjoying the whole thing.

Anyway, that's all I got. Hey, at least the MAW looks great in these pix. You can alway crop me out later.

Tomorrow, I hope to get with the program and finish a post entitled:
"Blogging: The writer as exhibitionist"

If not, I've got a ton of stuff I can scan and turn into "fluff" posts while I'm mentally treading water.

Take care.


*Under-Aged Woman? OK, she wasn't strictly a minor. But very young and sweet.