He stretches forth a trembling hand--
Only his right one remains--
to touch his comrades chiseled in the stone,
cold as death beneath the white-hot sun
He ignores his own reflection
in the polished black granite;
he searches for his name instead.
Odd! It should be there,
right next to Bobby Joe's.
Bobby, with the snapping blue eyes,
the eternal smile,
the girl in Mississippi who loved him.
Bobby Joe, who will never be twenty-two,
despite all the years that have come and gone.
He was there when Bobby fell.
They both died there in the jungle that day;
didn't they? Bobby Joe and he?
Strange that his own name isn't on the wall.
He clutches the brown paper sack
that contains all his future days and nights,
and stumbles away into a world
he no longer recognizes.

© Leeuna Foster 1991 All Rights Reserved.

I often ponder on things. (omygod, I so totally said the word ponder... ponder is such a funny word! )

I was thinking about inventions and inventors this morning, and where they get the idea for the things they invent. Like those pull tabs on aluminum cans. I wonder how that idea come about.

Was Ermal Cleon Fraze drinking a soda one day when he looked at the can and thought to himself...hmmm. Why don't they just cut a hole in the top, attach a ring to it and then stick it back on the can. Without the aid of a can opener, people can pop the top off and drop it into their drink. Then several million people can swallow the tab, gash their throat, jab a hole in their intestines and suffer deep agony and possible death. Yeah. I bet that'll sell really well.

And it did. It also gave those really tacky home decorators the opportunity to create curtains made from chains of 'drink tabs'. Didn't you just love those!  Me neither.

Of course everything that is invented is always improved upon. Later on, someone decided the gashing and jabbing was too harsh, so they opted to leave the slice of metal attached to the can. It's much safer now.  Now it just rips the fingernail off down to the flesh whenever we try to open it.

And the names they come up with for these inventions. Like the tooth brush. Did the person who  invented it have only one tooth? Why didn't  they  called it a teeth brush? And then there's the vacuum cleaner. Does this mean you are cleaning a vacuum?  Isn't a vacuum just a space with nothing at all in it? ...Yeah, that's what my dictonary said too. Like wise with the iron. It's made out of chromium plated steel and cast aluminum, and it presses cloth. There's no iron in it. No vitamins nor minerals either.

The New York Post certainly answered a burning question for us this week. One that I'm sure has kept all of us up many nights worrying and wondering about, and possibly even pondering:  What's on Hillary Rodham Clinton's iPod?

Songs from her youth figure heavily in the selection of about 1,000 songs, said Clinton, who called herself  "a child of the '60s and '70s.''

Motown tunes, classical music and the Rolling Stones are all on her playlist, the 58-year-old senator told The New York Post. 

''I've got everything -- a total smorgasbord,'' Clinton said.  She said the mix includes Aretha Franklin's Respect, The Beatles' Hey Jude and Take it to the Limit by The Eagles.

According to sources close to Hillary, she also admitted to listening to Black Sabbath and Alice Cooper a 'couple of times' just to see what they were about. "But I did not inhale", she hastened to add.

Clinton, a possible presidential candidate in 2008 who is running for reelection to the Senate this year, said her favorite time to listen to the music player is when she's doing paperwork at home. (probably in her bathroom.)

 Even a Senator's business isn't finished until the paper work is done.

Why do people have such a burning need to talk? Why do they feel the desire to assault my ears, especially early in the morning, and when each phrase is followed by a question mark? Worse than that, they always expect a reply. They force me to talk, even though they ignore my answers, which likely as not don't make any sense anyway. This always leads to another comment from them and before I know it, the whole thing has escalated into a full fledged conversation! I hate that!

Hubby talks. He likes to ask silly questions like "Did you pay the phone bill?" and "What's for dinner?" and  "I'm going to work now."

I mean really! Why doesn't everyone just write things down, then I can read them at my own leisure. I thinks that's why I love books. They don't make a sound. I can think the words and do it very quietly, all without moving my lips...and if the book asks a question, I don't have to answer.

Another thing that annoys me is  people who call me on the  phone just to...you guessed it...TALK! Most of the time I just nod or shake my head or use sign language, such as eye-rolling, sticking my tongue out, yanking my hair, that sort of thing.

And now it's with the cell phones! Merciful heavens! Now talking people can reach out and touch me no matter where they are! Like the other day with my grandaughter. I was in the shower and had just applied the shampoo and worked into a rich lather...as per the instructions on the bottle...when the phone rang.

Me: "h'loo'"
Her: "Hi Grama it's me. Whatcha doin?"
Me: "Oh, I was just in the shower, actually I'm dripping water all..."
Her: "We're at the track today. I'm totally bored. I just wanted to call you so I can talk on my cell while I'm walking round the track."
Me:  "O? K?"
Her: "Hey. Gen, wait up... GEeennnneennnnn!!! I'm just chatting....omygod there's Robb and Tommy? Let's totally hurry and walk beside..."
Me:  "hello...helloo you still there? I need to mop the floor...there's water...hello"
Her:  "Omygod, I so gotta go Grama, Me and Gen totally have to see if we can catch up to the guys. Omygod I'll call ya back in a minute."
Me:  (wiping soap out of my eyes..) "k. luv ya bye."

O My Stars and Garters!!! Now how necessary was that!?

And speaking of parrots, (ok, I know we weren't talking about parrots but that's the only way I could get here from there). Why would someone want a pet that talks? Why would they want a voice box, with bright colored feathers?!!!

I once had a cat,   (which incidentally, has nothing what so ever to do with a parrot, but this is important and I wanted to tell you about it).

My son, who was four at the time, thought since we sometimes chained up the puppy beside the doghouse, that a cat would enjoy the same luxury. Cat's so don't like to be chained up. At least this cat didn't. I looked out the window and saw my cat sailing through the air. I kid you not...the cat was actually flying! He reminded me of a June Bug on a string.  Back and forth across the doghouse he flew, squawking like a chicken. I ran out and finally caught him and turned him loose. We didn't see him the rest of that day...but early the next morning, he was standing at the door mouthing the word '"Meow". He must have injured his vocal cords with the collar, cause He never spoke another word after that. He would open his mouth but the sound just didn't come out. Poor kitty!

He left home not long after that. (the cat, not the four-year-old) I found a note in his litter box. It said, "Sorry, but I can't live in this crazy-house any more. I hope the dog chokes on his plastic pork chop. And hey, you'll find Junior tied to the clothes line. Tell him I said thanks for the memories.  By the way, I have your hubby. Bring seven cases of MeowMix and leave it under the Oak tree if you want to see him alive again.

P.S. You'd better hurry. He keeps talking and it's beginning to get on my nerves.

Signed: Mute, the Cat."

I took the MeowMix, but I didn't know what to say to the poor kitty. What do you say to a cat that can't talk?  ("whatsa matter...human got your tounge...?") ?

I would have told you more about the kitty, and how he got his voice back and came home where we all lived happily ever after, but I don't want to talk any more...

I made a huge mistake the other day. (Yes, even I, in all my perfection, am capable of making one of these...) 

I was surfing around, minding my own business when, all of a sudden, I came upon it. A HUMOR SITE! And let me tell you, it was like when people say they become addicted to cocaine after just one snort?! I couldn't leave the site.

I've been hanging out there ever since, reading everything in site, even the copyright notice and the source code.

I can't help myself. After that first article that caused me to spray coffee through my nostrils and all over the screen, I was addicted. Now every morning I have to go there and get a fix before I can start my day. My work is suffering. I have thirty two million emails to answer, my websites are falling down in disrepair, and my CEO has already threatened to take away my shares in the company and give them to his dog if I don't get back to work on our marketing campaign. I tell ya folks, this is bad!

Whoever said laughter is the best medicine never met Dave Barry. Thanks to him and his side-splitting, slobber-all-over-yourself, laugh-till-you-pee-your-pants, style of humor, I now have a hernia. Plus, he tears my face all to pieces!

While reading through the archive of his columns for The Miami Herald, I laughed until the tears began to stream out so badly I couldn't see. So I accidentally wiped my eyes with piece of toast that was lying on my desk. I got crumbs in my eye and now I can only see half of my computer screen. (the toast had been there for awhile and I think I may have gotten some mold in there as well). As if that wasn't injury enough, I fell off my chair and sprained my wrist and had to go to the emergency room.

I live in a small town and our hospital is not so big. Neither is the parking lot. Everyone in town visits the hospital on the same day of the week...and this happened to be the day. I drove around the parking lot for forty-five minutes praying that someone would leave so I could park my car.

I was beginning to feel like the Mobro-- Islip's Garbage Barge-- when I spotted a MINI Cooper backing out of a space. Hey, it wasn't my fault that my SUV is triple the size of the MINI Cooper. I thought it would fit. It looked like it  would just slide right in. It did, but it  made a terrible scraping sound on both sides that set my teeth on edge. (note to myself: call the auto insurance company and see if I paid my premium.) 

They rushed me right in to see the doctor, after seventeen hours and twelve minutes in the ER waiting room.  He took an xray of my arm and told me to make an appointment to see my family doctor on Monday. Then,  he gave me a funny look and said "You really need to do something about that eye too. It looks like it might have molded toast in it."

Before I take to my sick bed, I just had to take time to warn all of you about the danger out there.

Now, listen very carefully. I am typing this real slow in case some of you can't read  fast: Stay away from www.davebarry.com ! You may not see the danger and some of you may just want to try it "just once" but I'm telling you...don't take that chance. Otherwise, you could end up a one-eyed laughing jackass with her arm in a sling.

Trust me...Just say NO!