Here is an old picture for you.

I was going through my Dad’s pictures on his computer looking for some blogging material since I have used almost all of the good ones from my collection of photographs. It is amazing what you can find out about your parent’s lives by going through their old slides. I had never known that my Dad had ever been in the presence of Johnny Cash, let alone close enough to take a pretty good picture of the man. Apparently, Mr. Cash came to Sheppard AFB where my Dad was stationed. Here is the kicker, though. Mr. Cash was being more than nice and giving his adoring fans his autograph. But did my Dad get one? No. Did he at least ask? No. At least my Dad says he doesn’t remember getting his autograph and if he did, God only knows where in the world it went. It is enough to make you hit your head on a wooden table.

I don’t believe I have ever been in the presence of someone famous. But I know if were to be, the first thing, well maybe at least the second thing I do would be to ask – May I please have your autograph!!?? The first thing would be something along the lines of – I love your work. Fans can be such idiots sometime.

My Dad did something similar in the year 1974. My Dad was working for the radio station WKEU in Griffin, GA when Hank Aaron hit his 715th home run. Because my Dad was working for this radio station he was allowed to be at the press conference after the game. Well, if my Dad took pictures of that evening, I have never seen them, and once again, even though he was practically on the first row, he didn’t get his autograph(“They wouldn’t let anyone near him!! My Dad protests.) But he did happen to record the press conference, and that’s pretty cool. But an autograph would have been awesome. Again, it makes you want to hit your head on a wooden table. Really, really hard.

There are many eyes peering up to the night sky looking for a glimpse of the Truth. The truth that aliens do indeed exist. According to the once very popular tv show, The X-Files, The Truth Is Out There. That is what it said in the opening credits of each show. And who could forget the famous poster that Agent Mulder hung on his office wall. Believe it said. Believe. Believe. Believe. Well, I have two things to tell you. The truth is out there and you should definitely believe.

I, Maniac Gone Awry, have proof. Not only do I know that they exist, but I know who brought them here. I know where they work. And I know where they live. Ok, alright, I don’t know where they live, but I’m sure with out much research I could figure that out, too. And I am even more sure that you would be shocked to discover that you live next to one. But if you like, I won’t tell you if you are.

My first item of proof is this picture. Aliens are acrobatic creatures.

My second item of proof is this picture. It seems they like to frequent the bus stop.

My third order of business: They have craftily created their own coffee shop. It is just a scheme to take over our minds! No American can resist coffee.

The brainwashing coffee has paid off. They’ve even convinced McDonald’s to shape themselves like the mother ship that dropped them off. It even glows red at night.

Another picture that proves aliens are among us. They think this is funny – making the street lights look like them.

And now for the biggest surprise of the century. I can tell you who employs these pesky little aliens. Who would have thunk it? Well, there you are. The Truth. Pictures don’t lie ladies and gentlemen. If you don’t believe me you can come visit the Land of Enchantment. All you have to do is go to the middle of nowhere – Roswell. And if you don’t come for a visit – they just may come visit you. They are always looking for new abductees!

What makes a weed a weed and a flower a flower?

I thought that question as I walked through a barren field today. The ground was dry and cracked even though it had rained more in the previous days than it had in the last six months. The West’s ground always looks that way. It’s always thirsty. Always wanting more.

This field was barren in the sense of what humans think barren. There was no edible fruit. No plants that you would like to have in your backyard. There was plenty of cacti defending their plots of life with their menacing thorns. And there were ants. Bigger ants than most people on the East coast will probably ever see. Ants with pinchers that look like fangs of death. I imagine a colony of those ants could cart away a small dog or child.

And there were also . . . I am still debating what to call it. They are flowers to me, but the rest of Earth’s population would most likely call them weeds. Their purpose is the same as any blossom. Bees do not discriminate. They get pollinated regardless. But we pluck them and kill them. Is it because they are small or because they offended someone important somewhere? Or is there another story just as crazy that I have not heard? I do not know, but they are still pretty to me. And that is why I take their pictures. Because they deserve their recognition. God made them, too.

I tried to conduct an interview with the bee you can find in the picture to your left, but all I could hear or make out was, “Pollen. Pollen. Pollen. Got to get more pollen.” Over and over that is what I heard. He repeated this as he flew from one blossom to another sometimes landing on blossoms he had already been to. “Pollen! Pollen! Pollen! Where is the pollen?!” He would buzz. I tried to interrupt him to tell him which blossoms where the most profitable, but he wouldn’t listen. He was head strong and distracted. I was the last thing he wanted to pay any attention to. When I got my camera close enough to him to snap his picture, he buzzed over and landed on my lens. “Pollen. Pollen. Pollen. Are you pollen?” He buzzed. “No,” I said. “I am not pollen.” And then he buzzed away and landed on another blossom. I snapped his picture, and went on with my day.

One of the things I will reminisce about no matter where I am, will be the western sky as the sun sets. Some people don’t understand how the sky changes depending on where you are. And you can’t truly comprehend it unless you’ve seen its radiance and glory.

The picture that I have provided was taken by my Father. The picture is pretty, but no picture could paint how beautiful it was when it existed for those short minutes in the New Mexico sky. It looks as if the sky itself caught aflame. Maybe it did. Maybe that is why it looked so beautiful that day.

Ah, the good ole days. Or not.

I don’t think there ever was a day I enjoyed partaking in my expensive education at the University of Hell. Or at least not consecutive days in which I thought I was getting anything out of the never ending “blah blah blah”.

But I can look back on it now and laugh. Was the 4 1/2 years worth it? No. Not in the educational sense. Did I meet some cool people? Yes and no. Did I get anything out of it? Yeah, I found Jenny, my inner demon. Would I do it again? Probably. Why the hell would I do that? Because college is a necessary step in most of our lives. I wouldn’t call it important. No, that is a little extreme, but I think necessary fits nicely. It is just another stepping stone. A slippery one that usually leaves us on our buttocks, but at least it leaves us some where. Hopefully, not poor. Hopefully, more well rounded and wise. Hopefully, the experience leads us to our compass and true north. But if the world is always spinning, and we keep moving north – do we ever find happiness; an end?

Where is my diploma? Sitting between a wall and my dresser, still in the envelope it came in. Am I poor? Not yet, but it’s coming. Am I a well rounded and wise woman of 24, almost 25? God, I don’t even know. That’s not for me to know or to decide. And my true north? It is some where over the horizon, some where beyond that hill, some where beneath that star that I wish upon each night.

I thought Hell was over. But life has only just begun.

So I decided to go to church this past Sunday. I know, I know, go ahead and gasp, I’ll wait. (And just so you know, the church did not implode.)

Done? Alright, well, here is why I decided to attend church for the first time in seven months. I went not for His sake, or my sake, or my mother’s sake, but for my cousins, her husbands and their four month old, Hayden. They had a Parental Dedication. The preacher promised, the congregation promised, God promised, although no one heard him say it, and of course the parent’s promised that they would . . . I guess do everything that the Lord would want them to do in the raising of their daughter. And then they sat down, and the real learning of the day began.

If any of you know me, you know how I feel about churches. In short, I just don’t like them. They are full of hypocrites and liars, fake and greedy souls who care about nothing but themselves. Now I am sure that there are some church’s that have some redeeming people in their congregation, but not enough. And by visiting this new church, I can say that this one was no different.

First, there was the Soul Snatching Greeters. They were strategically placed on the premises to grab new-comers. I was quick to sneak past them. They came close a few times. One prepared a very convincing smile and was just about to put out his hand to shake mine, but I put my head down and ran! He radioed the others so that they may be able to trap me, but I made it through the mine field unscathed. Ah-ha!

And then there was the actually church. Oh, my. It was huge. Not as big as some that I have seen, but it was still too much for the eye to take in. I can only imagine how many trees (and the many homes that they provided) they cut down to build such an atrocity. It makes my stomach churn. I mean, does a house of God have to be this big? I mean does God really care if you build Him a 800 billion square foot building or a little shack? The only thing I can figure is that the people who make these decisions think that God will only love them only as big and as expensive as their church is. What a clever thought!

Inside of the church was the real kicker. They had little information booths like you would find at a sporting event or musical performance. I kept waiting to see a stand where I could buy a hat, a shirt, or a poster with the church’s logo and motto on it, but I wasn’t that lucky. And there was no divine intervention to bring it into being. Darn.

I joined my family on the second row and began the waiting game. Elevator music quietly emitted from the speakers as random people tried to squeeze by to grab a seat. With as many pews as this place had, everyone should be allowed their own. I felt like I was at a sold out movie and there was constantly just one unoccupied seat in the middle of the pew I was sitting on. Trying to allow someone to get by why you are wearing a skirt or a dress is not easy. If they were going to make the church as big as they did, you would think the next logical step would be to allow moving room between pews. I guess they didn’t get God’s memo on that building idea.

But one they did get was: Build two very large screens that will allow you to send subliminal messages to the entire congregation. I averted my eyes as much as possible, but it was difficult. They had the cutest nature scenes splashed across them. Several times I found myself starring at them, and had to pull my eyes away. I wonder how much damage my mind endured.

Five minutes before lift off, a time clock appeared in the bottom right hand corner and began to count down. I was later asked by someone why they didn’t have a count down for how long until the service was over. I thought this was a very good point. I’ll have to tell the Preacher.

The sermon was less than spectacular. I took some notes. They were a lot different than my mother’s. but they helped pass the time even if they were, well, only bits and pieces of what he actually said. But I picked out the main ideas, and that was what I was taught in school whenever I read or studied. I’m so going to hell, I know.

There was more talk about people not related or involved in the bible than those who were. At one point I found out, “That OhMiGod, I killed Jesus.” And that committing crimes was okay as long as your motive was rooted in the right place. I’ll be sure to tell the judge that if I ever get arrested for stealing, killing, or whatever random thing I may get in trouble for. I also learned that righteousness was a thirteen letter word that no one really can define. Or enjoy. Because it is some imaginary place called Bountiful. Through observation only, I discovered that to become a preacher you need only to take a theater class, learn some good jokes, and have some confidence in your lies.

I think I could have summed up this post by simply saying – Modern Churches, I just don’t like them. And with that . . .

This is Maniac Gone Awry

Over and Out

You won’t find Berry Berry Land on any map. At least I haven’t. And no one that you talk to will be able to point you in the right direction. At least no one I talked to did. But it does exist. Yeppers. And I know because I have taken pictures of it. The rarest pictures indeed. How did I find it you ask? And how do you get there? Which of the cardinal directions do you take?? Those are the same questions I keep asking myself. And the answers? I simply just cannot remember them. Why?? Why, Maniac can you not remember?!? I blame it on the Berry Wine that I could not stop drinking. It was just that damn good.

But the good news is that my trip was not in vain. I do have pictures to share that prove that I indeed was there. Even now, as I look at these pictures, I think that it might be possible that there is a lingering bit of berries on my taste buds. Or it could be that I am merely insane. But until I have proof . . . that Berry Berry Land was nothing but a sick joke my drunk inner child played on me – I will continue to believe that the beautiful land of Berry Berry Land exists!! I do believe in Berries. I do!! I do!!

The one thing in life’s instruction booklet that you simply will not find, nor learn, is the forever crucial customs of the Flower Pot Gnomes.

The Flower Pot Gnomes, as you can safely assume, live in flower pots.

One thing that you may not safely assume is that they are all heavily addicted to Sunflower tobacco. Sunflower tobacco you ask? That is what I said when they offered me a pipe full of it.

I came upon them quite unexpectedly, like most of my strange encounters. I was leaving a friends house when I decided to take a look at some flowers blooming by the front door. They were purple and pretty, and I couldn’t deny them. Well, when I bent down to smell the flowers, my nostrils were not engulfed by the sweetness of, well, flowers, but that of what I swore was tobacco. I took another whiff just to make sure, and by golly, that it exactly what it was!! Strange flowers, I thought. I had never come across pretty purple flowers that smelled of tobacco before – and I have smelled lots of pretty purple flowers.

One thing I knew for certain – something must surely be amiss.

And that is when I noticed perfect little rings of smoke rising toward the blue skies coming from beneath a purple petal.

Yes, something most definitely was amiss.

I peered a little closer at the purple flower and brushed it aside. Low and behold, before my very eyes was a gnome sitting atop a tiny mushroom smoking away on a pipe.

“Well, hello there!” I exclaimed. “And who might you be?”

Thankfully, for your sakes, I took one very informative class at the University of Hell on Gnomish. Thankfully.

“Aye!” The Gnome squealed. “Oh, Maniac Gone Awry, it’s just you.”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Oh, no, I just thought you might stop by sooner. You’ve interviewed every other interesting creature this side of the Mississippi.”

“I’m sorry, I took a sabbatical of sorts.”

“An extended vacation you mean, its been months, Maniac. Are you feeling better?”

“I will be in 15 days.”

“15 days? What happens in 15 days?”

“I quit my day job, and then can go about interviewing and finding interesting creatures like yourself. The world really needs more literature on people like you.”

“Literature? That is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Ok, how about . . .”

“I think your audience will only truly buy this truth as fiction.”

“Fiction!!?? But it’s TRUE!!

“True or not, the people of this Earth are not ready for such ideas.”

“I know, I know. It’s sad. What is a Maniac to do?”

“Do what maniac’s do best Maniac Gone Awry – adventure and tell your tales regardless of the simple minds who will never understand.”

“You are one smart Gnome.”

“I like to think that I am.”

“Well, is there anything you want to say, so that I may relay it to my people?”

There was silence for a while as the Gnome smoked on his pipe and blew smoke rings into the air. He rubbed his beard for a bit and then spoke.

He said, “Well, Maniac, I guess you could report on our love of Sunflower Tobacco.”

“Sunflower Tobacco? I never heard of such thing.”

“I don’t imagine that you have. It is a Gnomish thing. We are very much addicted to it. Would you like to try some,” the Gnome said, raising the black pipe to me.

“Sure,” I replied and took a puff.

It was absolutely wonderful and satisfying. And I would be lying if I didn’t say at that moment I felt as if I could be completely content sitting in a flower pot, smoking Sunflower Tobacco for the rest of my natural life. But then, of course, I wasn’t a Gnome, and I would never fit in flower pot.

“Good, huh?” The Gnome asked.

“Very good.”

“Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Would you like to come inside and meet the missus?” The Gnome stopped after saying this and then thought better of it. “Well, how about I tell her to come out and meet you.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “But you’ll have to let me take a picture of you two.”

“No problem,” he laughed. No problem at all.”

In a little while, Mr. Gnome’s wife came out from behind a purple flower and said hello. She was the most pleasant Gnome I had ever met. We sat there a while, taking turns puffing on the black pipe and discussed world peace. And then they said something about having to leave and said their goodbyes. But first they struck a pose for me. I thought it turned out to be a very nice picture.

I had a very nice visit, and was glad to have met them.  I tooI had to go, for there were hundreds of creatures that wished to have their say in an interview of their own. And so off I went into the world that only a Maniac could appreciate.

I came across a field of sunflowers mostly by chance the other day, and decided to investigate.

What I thought was a field of sunflowers ended up being a field of condominiums inhabited by a score of Monarch butterflies and a few rather menacing looking bumble bees.

They were all pretty perturbed at the fact that I was A) not invited, B) that I had not knocked(even though I swore that I had never seen a door), and C) that I was neither a Monarch butterfly or a bumble bee.

After much conversation about how rude I was, I convinced one of each species to pose for a picture. I assured them that I was a professional and that taking pictures of such beautiful creatures had been my calling. I don’t know if they believed me or not. Probably not.

Ms. Monarch came first, and she was a little shy. She demanded that I take her picture through her kitchen window. At first I argued this. I told her that I would not be able to capture her essence, but she wouldn’t allow any thing else. She said something about it not being proper with her being an unmarried Monarch and all or something to that effect. I wasn’t really paying attention because a certain, impatient bumble bee was eying my bent over beehind(sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

After taking Ms. Monarch’s picture, I bustled on over to Mr. Bumble Bee’s residence. He was buzzed(that’s pissed in Bee if you’re wondering) and it was rather obvious, but he still offered me a thimble of honey. It tasted a lot like sunshine, which is very good by the way. If you’ve never sampled it, you should take a side trip to the Sun sometime in the near future. The sun itself is a sight to see. But anyway, he buzzed some directions at me and I did strictly as I was told, afraid that if I did anything other than instructed, I would be screeching in agony while I smashed the hell out of one temperamental bee. And with a quick “click”, mine and Mr. Bumble Bee’s short acquaintance came to end.

As I strode away from the lot of Sun Flower condominiums, I scratched my head thinking nothing weirder could possibly happen. But as I usually am, I was sadly mistaken.

One of the, I’ll call them houses, stretched out in front of my path, and asked for a word with me. I obliged, for I had never had a house talk to me before.

“Before you go,” the sun flower condominium said, “take a picture of me.”

“A picture of you?”

“Yes. Would that be a problem?”

“Well, no . . . it’s just that I’ve never been propositioned by a house is all. It’s a first.”

“Ah . . .”

“May I ask why?”

And her answer was this.

“I am more beautiful and complex than that of my tenants, but you must get close to see. I am not a single flower, but a thousand flowers that create one.”

And with another simple “click”, I continued along the path and crested the hill.