My America's Got Talent Adventure Part V

On October 6, 2009, I received my invitation to audition for Season V of AGT. Because so many people around me acted so weird and unbelieving and over the top one way or the other, I only told my friend, Joanne Klein, a woman I met here on the Island and someone I consider family. She understood about people's reactions and so we kept it quiet. She offered to drive us to Houston where the first email said the auditions would be held. They weren't held in Houston. Something made them change the audition location.

Wednesday, I awoke to find I had no hot water and couldn't shower. I had to boil 2 half filled pots of water and fill them with cold water enuf to leave it hot but not scalding. It felt like it was a bad day. Someone had broken the washer and I was unable to do laundry.

They called last Wednesday afternoon to ask me if I was coming up to Dallas. I had decided not to go back in October because of the crappy job I had working at Bundys with a horrible manager. I decided not to do it because it was too expensive and money was tight as usual. I decided not to do it because it was insane to spend all that money, drive 8 hours each way to Dallas for a 90 second shot at a TV show. But I told Mandy who called that I would be there before I could catch myself.

Luis and Cheryl were with me. I was at Quicksilver Cafe and my friend, Phil, the owner was also there. I couldn't believe I'd said yes. I just had a feeling that I was supposed to say yes and do it this year. It defied logic. It was all based on a feeling. Mandy asked me to pick a day - Saturday or Sunday. I picked Sunday because I figured it was the easiest and maybe as many people wouldn't show on Sunday.

Luis mentioned that he couldn't go because he was filling in for Gerald that Sunday. I'd have to do it alone. I was disappointed, but, not shaken. I knew Luis was disappointed but he always remained positive and encouraging and really great about it even tho he could not go.

I called Joanne to check and see if she could still take me to Dallas. She said oh, yea...she could. She asked if it would be okay for her kids to go and I said that it was. Immediately all my priorities changed.

I caught a ride with Luis home to the RV and took a nap and did my usual Wednesday things. I was overwhelmed. I tried to do laundry, but someone where I live had broken the washer. I couldn't do laundry. I couldn't plan what to wear. It was a cold and nasty day. I was frustrated and went to sleep.

Thursday, I awoke and still felt clean from my boiling water bath Wednesday. It was cold and I was not going to take a bath on such a cold day without hot water. Thursday I decided on my song. The washer was still broken. I had a pile of dirty clothes on my deck. OC came home fixed my hot water Hallelujah. Friday, I had hot water in the morning. It felt good to take a hot shower that day. I went about my usual business. Joanne was busy all those days so we didn't make much contact.

She's a marvel to me and I greatly admire her. She's about 15 years younger than me, but we are alike tempermentally. She has a million things going and is super intelligent. That and she's raising 2 great kids I think of as a niece and nephew.

The washer was still broken so I still didn't know what I was going to wear. I felt like I should be doing more, but couldn't think what I should be doing. I didn't practice. I knew this song backwards, forwards, and upside down.

Saturday, I went to the yellow t-shirt shop on Cotter and decided to buy a Port A t-shirt so that I could "represent". I felt pride in representing our little town and proud that I was the first to do this in Port A. I also picked up a head scarf of jolly rogers and after I bought it realized it was over-kill, but knew I'd wear it later. Joanne picked me up and we went and did laundry at the WishyWashy. Well, it's called the Washtub, but I call it the WishyWashy. After that as done, I was able to decide that I would keep it simple. Black t-shirt, jean skirt, boots, leather jacket. After a half hour, she picked me up and I found Emily couldn't go to do complications in her attendence because of her having the flu earlier in the school year. I was bummed. By 5pm ish, we were on Hwy 36 headed to CC to take Emily to her dad's. After we dropped her off, we decided we were hungry. We found a Chinese Fast Food joint, ordered drive-thru, and off we were to Dallas. We ate as we drove and found we were all really hungry and the food was really good.

We made it up highways familiar to Joanne and the places she grew up. We took little side trips to her previous homes, to Flatonia, Seguin, Halletsville, and took our time. The missions looked beautiful in the moonlight of Goliad. I want to go back there some day soon. We stopped and got more coffee and gas and munchies and discovered a new toll road which allowed us to bypass all of Austin. It was great. The road was ours and we made great time thanks to the toll road. We made it to West TX and had to stop. It's tradition in my life to stop at the Czech Stop and get kolaches, milk, sausage rolls, and all manner of Czech goodness. We had another burst of energy as we drove into the night towards Dallas.

We finally made it to Dallas. We found a hotel room in DeSoto and quickly unloaded only what we needed and watched the Weather Channel. We were glad there was no snow in the forecast and pretty much passed out. I awoke in the middle of the night to find someone had turned off the TV. I awoke shortly before the alarm went off and after I gave myself about 10 minutes to wake up, dyed my hair red. Garnier #56 (Sangria). It makes my hair a very dark red but not clown red. Joanne and Alex got dressed and left me to shower and get dressed. I still hadn't practiced yet.

Now it was Sunday morning. We packed, checked out, I printed out the 12 pages of paperwork I needed to get into the AGT auditions. We drove up I35 to Griffin, were lucky and found a great parking space. We walked what seemed miles to Exibit Room E of the Dallas Convention Center. We found the room. The cops were all very nice and helpful. They seemed even to be having a good time. Easy gig, I guess. We made it to our first table where they asked if I had my completed paperwork. I did. He said Excellent. They gave me a number. We were directed to another table. This was security. We were told we were not to take photos or we would be disqualified.

They inspected all bags. They waved the metallic wand over each of us. Even 9 year old Alex. We took the stairs to another floor and found Exhibit Hall E. We walked a maze and found another line. They were checking for completed paperwork which some people didn't have. I got the guys attention and said I was ready and they pulled us out and took us to a nice guy named Raul at another table. He inspected and approved our paperwork. Joanne and Alex were required to have release forms completed. We were officially in the AGT area at 10am.

We were instructed to find a place to sit and wait for my number to be called. I was number 1948. We looked around and saw a huge hall filled with about 2000 people. Dancers, martial artists, river dancers, cheerleaders, rappers, hip-hoppers, cowboys, hippies, soul singers, Indian dancers, opera singers and they all seems to be making some kind of noise. It was overwhelming. We noticed there were guitar players quietly practicing along the back wall and we decided to pull 3 chairs and lined them up against the back wall. There was a New Yorker sitting on the floor and he was calling it "the Suburbs". It was funny. Later, more people pulled chairs against the back wall as the noise began to just overtake. We got munchies and waited for HOURS. We drank coffee. We saw singers practicing loudly. Getting off to the sound of their own voices in the cavernous hall. They were calling out numbers of 50 at a time to go audition. 1600 to 1650. 1650 to 1700. 1750 to 1800. There was a very loud of Brazilian percussionists practicing loudly as martial artists danced. There young girls in just terrible, ugly costumes. There was a 3-4 year old break dancer. There was a 9 year old looking girl with her sister and her dad waiting by us. People were passing the time texting and doing things (prolly taking pix) with their laptops.

I tried to access wifi from the convention center, but they wanted $20. I decided they could kiss my butt. So, with no signal on my cell phone, and no wifi, I was totally incommunicado.

After a few hours, they told everybody with a 1900 number to go downstairs. That was me. So, we packed everything up, and followed the crowd down the escalator to the first floor again and went into another large room. We found 3 chairs in the front of the room and proceeded to wait for more HOURS.

My America's Got Talent Adventure Part IV

So after the summer of 2008, things got really bad. I wasn't eligible for unemployment. I scraped by somehow. I briefly made a few dollars at a local coffee shop and won't go into that. It was a bad experience. I sang at the Tarpon Ice House for tips. Those customers don't tip. They would rather save their $2 for another beer. The owner of the Tarpon kept assuring me the Winter Texans would come to the Tarpon. I was too naive and stupid to know the Winter Texans don't come to the Tarpon. Many nights I sang for beer. No one can survive on that. It was right by the Roach Motel where I lived at the time so there was a convenience factor. The daytime gigs I was doing came to an end as it was now the slow season. I survived on food from the Presby Church Food Pantry. I was not making it. Somehow, I got lucky and even tho there were no jobs on the Island, I got hired at Whataburger. I no longer had to depend on pennies from the Tarpon Ice House.

Work at Whataburger was brutal, but I got food at half price. We also would eat on the sly. There were discarded pieces of burgers and food that were unservable that I fed to my dogs. I would go by the Stripes before closing and they would give me corn dogs and burritos they were going to throw out and I fed those to my dogs. The work was brutal at Whataburger and they worked me near to death it felt like. My feet everyday felt like they were at risk because of my diabetes.

Even tho I had applied at the Condos since a year before, I always felt like the Manager just didn't like me. They were in a bad place staff-wise and even tho I felt the dislike, she hired me for the graveyard shift thanks to Luis. The details of that job are mine to know and I really don't want to go into how terrible the management and a front desk bimbo were to me, so I will keep those to myself. I had moved from the Roach Motel by then so things seemed to improve just because of that. I had applied for food stamps and medical help from the county and since I onoy worked 24 per week, qualified. T

I discovered the B Bus. One fine February day, I fell on the sidewalk. I messed up my face rather badly. It was one big scab. My arms, hands, and wrists were hurt. My front tooth twisted sideways when I fell on it. I broke my nose even tho the ER people wouldn't xray it, I knew is was broken by my blackened eyes. I was badly hurt and had to cancel a gig. The rest, I did all ugly with my injuries and whispers that I must've been beaten up. My face healed surprisingly fast. I started getting treated more aggressively for my diabetes. I have a nice doctor. He started me back on my anxiety meds. We worked on my diabetes meds.

They employed me from Jan to Aug of 2009. They cut me down to 8 hours per day and I had to find something else or I wouldn't make it. That's how they fire you here in Port A sometimes. The GM and the Manager accused me of stealing computer printer ink! That's how ridiculous and horrible those women are.

I was also working at a restaurant as a hostess part time. I want to keep that to myself also, but I managed to piece together money somehow and survived. When the slow season came in September that disappeared as well.

I applied at a new coffee house and was hired. There were problems with a manager I call the Nazi Troll. I was so stressed out as a result of her mistreatment, I ended up in the ER with serious diabetes problems. They fired me for calling in sick even tho I only missed work because of my 2 ER visits. Besides that, I never called in and was never even late. This time, I qualified for UI Benefits. I worked there from Aug to Oct 2009.

I have been surviving on that. This is where I am today. Surviving the Slow Season til Spring gets here and hopefully Luis and I can get some gigs and I can get a job that pays enuf for me to survive.

Then, sometime in late 2009, I got another letter from AGT.

My America's Got Talent Adventure Part III

A few years went by. I received more emails from AGT but I blew them off. I was barely surviving and fighting depression, diabetes, anxiety, and poverty. I survived temping, worked loser jobs, lived on unemployment. Did what I have to to make it through life.

I started working a paper route in Port Aransas on 121707. I lived in North Beach and worked in Port Aransas. I drove at least 60 miles per day. In May of 2008, I moved to Port A. The summer season of 2008 was my first living on the Island. I barely made it. The Winter Texans were gone and partying teenagers don't buy newspapers. My newspaper earnings dropped seriously. I got by on gigs at restaurants. Doing the route overnight and doing gigs during the day was killing me. My diabetes ridden body couldn't handle the physical requirements or the need for strength I needed to do both. Then my car broke and it was something expensive I couldn't afford to fix. I lost my paper route. I took cabs to my gigs that I was surviving on.

I was living in what I call the Roach Motel. A way too small ugly shack on Oleander which couldn't hold all my belongings. When Ike was heading straight for Port A, I discarded 60% of my stuff. I borrowed my brother in law's car and put in what I could not live without in it (gear, pets, some clothes, paperwork, computers, and other stuff). I threw away all that I could that stood in my way of packing the car. I left behind what I had to packed in randomness in Rubbermaid plastic tubs. I duct taped them shut as best I could and evacuated to my sister's in CC.

As I drove on roads almost over-run by the sea, they played Blue October's "I Want to Swim Away". North Beach was almost all already underwater as I drove by on Hwy 181.

When I returned from evac-ing, I was surprised to see how much stuff was still in the Roach Motel. Everything was in terrible disarray from my panicked packing. It didn't even rain here. Not that I'm complaining, but I couldn't saved myself so much anguish.

There were too many big problems living in the Roach Motel to go into here. It was clear to me, I had to move. So, I found my current home and have been here since Jan 2009.

I still have too much stuff for where I live, but I have taken more time in clearing the useless belongings. I am almost to the point where I feel comfortable with what I have decided to keep. I have too many clothes. But, I need a lot of clothes. I need office clothes, stage clothes, run-around clothes, work in restaurant clothes, and clothes that fit. I lost 60 lbs and my weight has vacillated to where I am having trouble determining what goes and what stays. But, that's my problem to deal with.

Anyway, I got another AGT email inviting me to compete in 2009. Luis and I had been working off and on as a result of circumstances surrounding him and his band, Triggerfish. Those band details are not mine to discuss so I will let those be. But we decided to get our music taped and to enter AGT. Both of us were struggling with money at the time, so we decided to fore-go the trip to Dallas to audition and rather to enter online. Edith Bujnoch, Joanne's mom, a retired home-ec teacher was kind enough to offer to film us with her digi-cam. Of all the musicians we know, of all our friends, she came through for us. We had a gig at Beach and Station St Grill on a Sunday morning and she came and patiently, generously, kindly taped 4 songs for us. We taped Love the One You're With, In the Summertime, Baby I Love Your Way, and Baker Street. It was fun and relaxed. By myself, I taped Cry Me a River.

It was an impossibly sunny, hot, windy day. You can hear the sea-birds and hear the wind. People would walk by. People were talking. Buck walked in front of the camera with his surfboard. I kind of rather like that he did that. It was cute and spontaneous and unexpected. I was happy for having done it. Finally, there was something to post on YouTube.

We Fed Ex-ed the paperwork to AGT. We uploaded the vids to YouTube. We uploaded the vids to the AGT website. I wasn't on Facebook yet so didn't mess with that. We linked to YouTube where we could. I sent an email letting everybody I knew that we were on YouTube. I asked for a critique. I got what I expected even tho I explained that we did it all ourselves and none of us were professional videographers. The sound was not great. It was too windy. We didn't sound check the video before taping. We taped in front of an obnoxiously yellow painted wall. I hated that color but didn't have a choice in that matter. There were all sorts of things we learned after doing the video, but I am proud that we did it despite our limitations. We just made it happen. We owe Edith Bujnoch so much for helping us.

So, it was out and we were entered in AGT. People actually looked at it. AGT became my YouTube friend.

Luis and I worked at the same Condos. He worked the shift before mine. When we changed shifts, we'd check out stats on YouTube and Google ourselves. We'd giggle that the video was watched in the Phillipines, England, Mexico, Turkey, and we were mentioned as contenders on AGT on Beyonce's website. It was all too cool.

For a person who had scoffed (that's you Luis) that he had been a professional musician all his life and been with a successful working band for 14 years, and now he had been reduced to doing a talent show, he was having fun with this. For me, it's all about enjoying what you do and having fun with it. We never got called. We never made the show, but we had fun and got just a tad experience with the whole YouTube thing. We saw what it could do.

On the negative side, I learned you can't tell everybody about these AGT type things. Some people just over reacted. One of the Managers angrily told people who were reacting positively to our stuff to not encourage us. People who I thought were friends made faces to mock the fact that we could do this. People just way over-reacted. Some hurt my feelings. Some made me angry. Some disappointed me. And I learned to keep my mouth shut.

I was happy about the vid. We did it without professional equipment. There are people who don't understand that. Maybe they don't want to. I just don't care.

Anyway, I was grateful to AGT for providing the impetus to get us to do something. Anything. I was excited again after some serious depression and anxiety. I started to get treated for diabetes again. I was still throwing stuff away that I didn't need. I started discarding people who were hurtful and toxic. Overall, slowly, there was a glimpse of hope for the future.

My America's Got Talent Adventure Part II

Sometime between receiving the email and being pre-registered. I had a gig at a local venue. I will call it The Venue because it's been a few years and I would like for my duo, Havana Daydream, to play there. We showed "The Manager" our picture and she didn't recognize me so those folks will remain nameless so that maybe we can play there again. If I name them, some butt-head will surely walk up to them and spill the beans and I will have to go postal.

Anyway, I googled AGT to see just what I was getting into. Potential contenders were posting blogs and stuff on their web-site. There were animal acts, contortionists, mimes, you know, all the weird strange acts you can possibly imagine.

Let's put it this way. Jerry Spring (who I admire, by the way) was the host for the first few years.

I found one act I found amusing. Boobzilla. It seemed she did tricks with...wait for it....her boobs. I was never quite sure what manner of tricks these were. She mentioned she had done her act in a room for Jerry Springer. I saw her picture. She was ... um... er... gifted as in well-endowed.

I had a gig at the Venue. I mentioned I was auditioning for the show and I used it as stage patter. Just something to talk about between songs. I mentioned Boobzilla and her story.

Everyone laughed. I never cussed or spoke in a manner that would be censored on TV. Clean language and descriptions.

Next thing I know a few songs later, the Manager came up and told me to turn off my mic. I did. Quite perplexed as to why I would be rudely told to do this. She gritted her teeth and told me she had had a complaint. That I had offended a customer with a little girl. I asked what it was I said. She repeated a lurid story of Boobzilla "doing" Jerry Springer in a room. That was something I had never said! She then red-faced and frizzy, bleached, clown-hair flying in the sea breeze commanded me to just sing and not talk at all.

I could see the nearby customers jaws hit the floor. I felt like I'd been belted. So, I did as I was told. Customers came up and put big tips in my jar and told me they knew what was going on and bestowed me with apologies. I completed my gig and the remaining customers and I made light of what happened but I was deeply affected.

Later that week, I called to rebook some gigs. A different manager came on the phone and told me my name was on the roster. Unbooked. And the word OBSCENE written by it with a command to not rebook.

I called again and spoke to the original manager after getting the runaround several days and she stood by her story and I was never booked there again.

Punished for something I didn't do. And it's been that way for years until Luis and I reapplied with a photo and she didn't even recognize me. So, we'll see what happens.

How It Started - My Americas's Got Talent Adventure I

I think it was 2005 when I received an email from America's Got Talent Sharon Nash inviting me to audition for the show's first season. How they got my name and email address, I don't know. I figure it may have been from somewhere I worked in Dallas or the Internet. I was working at Texas A&M Corpus Christi and that was a stormy employment relationship. I was not happy there so the temptation to go to Dallas was overpowering. I mentioned the email to my co-workers when I got it and they gave me a "yea right" look. This amused me because it was typical of the response I got from most people whereever I happened to have a day job.

I responded to the email and chose my preferred day to audition. At that time, we were able to make an appointment with a specific audition time. It was great because I would not have to stand outside waiting with those responding to the "cattle call".

My car needed repair. A radiator, I believe. If I fixed the car I would have no money to drive or fly there. Lack of money when I need money is a prevalent on-going theme in my life. After mentioning in a mass email to my joke receiving friends, a dear friend in Dallas came through. He works for American Airlines and magically managed to get me passage on stand-by. I arranged for some PTO, completed all the required paperwork for the show, arranged to stay with my friend Robert Hutchens in Oak Lawn, chose a song, packed, and my friend Jenny, neighbor and friend from North Beach drove me to the CC Airport. We got lost. After finding our way, she dropped me off. I was on time but there was an issue with the plane so I would have to wait for the next flight along with a whole class of students who were flying up to the Metroplex to compete in an event I cannot recall. We waited for some hours and finally we were all able to board. We flew direct so the flight lasted probably no more than an hour. When we arrived, I took a cab (can you say $70) to Oak Lawn Dallas, stopping to shop for a few things at a neighborhood convenience store I used to frequent when I lived there. It was owned by a very nice family from Nepal and it was great to see them. They asked about Gomez, one of my chihuahuas who used to come with me on my little shopping trips. They would dote on him whenever they saw him.

I made my way to Robert's place. He was at work. So after I found the hidden key, I made a bed for myself on the couch and slept as best I could as my mind was racing and my internal dialog would not stop. At some point, Robert came home, I met his friend Chris who was visiting from St. Louis, briefly said our hellos and he and Chris left me to cut some zzz's and went to his room to sleep and I dropped off again.

It seemed like a moment before it was time to wake. I got up, showered, dressed, put on a face and after Robert and Chris got ready, they drove me to the Hilton in North Dallas for the audition.

I chose Cucurrucucu, an old Mexican song, as my song to audition. I thought that being full of passion it would go beyond language barriers and since it required much skill to sing convincingly, would set me apart. The song is of lost love. A man loses his woman to death and he can't sleep, can't eat, and drinks endlessly. Every time he hears the coo-ing of a dove, he believes it's his lost love calling after him. It's a beautiful song I've loved since childhood.

I exited the car and in a tired daze walked to the Hotel entrance where there were about 25 people milling about. I was asked by someone with a badge if I had my paperwork and I said yes. They escorted me in and I found myself before another table. I presented my ID and my paperwork which was inspected and approved. I was told to take the stairs to the second floor and was told where the vocalist auditions were held. I hate stairs. I was met by Nigel at the foot of the stairs. I shyly said hello as I recognized him as Simon Cowell's business partner. I did take the time to notice what a tall and handsome guy he was. I slowly made my way up the stairs and made my way to my area. We sat in chairs lined up by the outside wall and all of us were quietly singing to ourselves and primping. We had 90 seconds to prove we were worthy.

One by one we were called in. I looked across the huge second floor as I waited my turn. I saw belly dancers, flying acrobats, River dancers, tap dancers, ballet dancers, jugglers, cheerleaders, and other choreographed dancers. I looked across the other direction to see what seemed like way too many people with guitars. They, too, strummed quietly and practiced with their singers.

Finally, it was my turn. I entered the audition room and stood on an X before a table of 3 judges and a large TV camera. The process was explained to me and I told them my age, name, residence city, and name of my song. I was told to start and I did my song for 90 seconds. I did okay. I hit all my notes and remembered all the words and sang a capella. Sharon Nash asked me what "Cucurrucucu" meant and I explained about the man who lost his lover and the sound the dove makes in Spanish. I never knew doves spoke English and Spanish. I was thanked and told I would be notified in 2 months if I made it to the show.

As I walked down the stairs to leave, I was stopped by Nigel. He asked if I was the one who sang in Spanish and I quietly admitted, that yes, I was. He then said they wanted to hear more. I was kind of stunned at this point. He guided me to another huge room filled with cameras and another large group of artists. I stood where they told me and watched a whip-cracker who used a whip to cut paper into increasingly smaller squares. Then he used 2 whips. He did all kinds of "tricks" with his whips and I wondered what chance I had competing with that. I then met a comic who claimed he was Carlos Mencia's cousin. I guess he could be, but how would I ever know?

I was directed to stand on another X in front of another big camera and did my song again. Again, no missed notes or forgotten lyrics. But I remembered I closed my eyes as I sang in some parts. It's a bad habit. I was thanked and this time, was told I would hear in a month and a half if I made it. I smiled and thanked them for the opportunity and walked outside to an even bigger awaiting crowd. More strange and diverse acts were gathered. These were people who hadn't completed their paperwork or were making calls or who know's what.

I called Robert who quickly picked me up. We ate Chinese food at a new place on Lemmon Avenue. We gossiped and caught up and before long it was time to go to the Airport. He dropped me off as I recalled the events of the last two days and pondered what would become of my job where it seemed they were just looking for reasons to hate me. This was the beginning of every job that's gone wrong in the Coastal Bend for me.

When I arrived in CC, dazed from the events of the trip, I took a taxi to work where I figured I could take a bus home. My boss, Mario Montelongo was stunned to see me and said I had to leave. I didn't understand why. He said they had sent me a letter telling me I was on administrative leave as they were investigating my job performance. I was stunned. I am a picky, skilled, overachiever who had taught HIM many computer skills he was lacking. I called my friend Marty to see if he could pick me up. (Marty was later murdered that year.) He picked me up and I told him all about my trip as we made our way to North Beach where we were neighbors.

While I was on administrative leave, I had my car repaired. It was cheaper than I thought it would be. I was later fired from A&M CC for no reason. They denied my application for Unemployment Benefits. I appealed and won. And with the back-benefits I was paid, bought the computer I am typing this blog on.

And that's how I started my America's Got Talent Adventure.

Message in a bottle: Romance or rubbish?

By Michael Cary
Manuel Janchezan wrote a message in broken Spanish, stuffed it into a bottle, and set it adrift in the Gulf of México.
"I am lost at sea. I am a fisherman on the ship Norvis Beatris. I am going to the Port of Sabancuy, Campeche. I am about to die. I have been lost for 12 days. Adios."
Whether Janchezan was really lost at sea or whether he was playing a joke has never been documented.
But his message was received when it landed on the beach at Matagorda Island.
It was found and translated by employees of the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, the caretakers of the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge.
Matagorda Island is one of the barrier islands that protect the Texas coastline, with 38 miles of beach and bayside marshes, jointly owned by the Texas General Land Office and the U.S. government, preserved as a major wildlife management area, and winter home to the endangered whooping crane population.
It also collects mountains of trash floating in from the Gulf.
Among that trash occasionally floats a message in a bottle, frequently found by volunteers who perform turtle patrols along the beach.
Janchezan's eery message about being lost at sea was likely taken seriously by the U.S. Coast Guard when it was found on the beach on Aug. 24, 1996, but Tonya Nix, environmental education specialist with the U.S Fish & Wildlife Service, has no knowledge that anyone found him and returned him safely to shore or left him committed to the deep in the Gulf of México.
"If there is a cry for help we treat it as such, we would contact the Coast Guard, but that's the only one I've ever seen," said Nix, whose tenure at the refuge began after the message was discovered.
And, she said, putting a message in a bottle would be a desperate final act for someone who was actually lost at sea.
"That would be something to do if there were no other options," Nix said.
Messages in a bottle, romanticized over the centuries and put into song by The Police on their second album in 1979, have been discovered several times over the years on Matagorda Island.
"Most of them come from cruise ships," Nix explained.
One such message was much more upbeat.
"Dear Finder, you have just found a drift bottle," wrote a Kansas fifth grader, Maggie, who was on the Norwegian Sun on March 24, 2007, when she dropped a bottle into the sea.
"I hope you can read English. My name is Maggie and I'm 11 years old and in the 5th grade," she printed.
Maggie included her email address on Norwegian Cruise Line stationery and requested an answer to her message, which was found on the island later that summer.
"Please tell me your age, grade and when and where you found this. Please also tell me the city and country you live in," Maggie wrote in legible print. "P.S. I hope you have a computer."
"Hay, I'm working onboard a Norwegian Chemical tanker (Trans Scandie). Last port was Varna, Bulgaria, next port is New Orleans, write me some words," penned Anders Jan Kyoennoe, from his position at sea on June 11, 1999 somewhere between Key West and Cuba.
His message was found on Matagorda Island – it included a line drawing of a man with spiked hair, stubble and a cigarette in his mouth.
Some messages in a bottle could have a nearer point of origin, such as from a shrimp trawler that might be cruising parallel to the beach in the summertime.
"The shrimp god is being summoned. If anybody finds this before the shrimp god does, please send it back on its merry way. Good luck to all shrimpers, and God bless us all. P.S., tell Hope Bowen I love her," wrote an unkown author, who could have been working on a shrimp boat out of a nearby harbor.
Nix said that when she taught aquatics science at Austwell and Tivoli ISD near the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, one of her student groups laid hands on a message in a bottle that had floated ashore.
"Some sailors had bet $100 on where the bottle would go, and the girls got excited, and the boat was at least 160 miles offshore," Nix said.
The students wrote back to the sailor, seeking to take him up on his promise of half the $100 if they would answer. The girls answered the letter but there was no reward forthcoming.
"James Mishelek owes $50 to the junior and senior class (of 2005) at Austwell-Tivoli High School," Nix said.
Another message in a bottle, found on Matagorda Island in June 1994, was considered by the examiner as containing "a most curious note.
"It begins in English and then lapses into a Philippine dialect called Tagalog. We had to have intelligence experts translate the last half of the message," wrote the person who cataloged the discovery for viewers at the refuge's visitor center.
"Darling Mommy, how are you now? I hope that you are not worried now ... Mommy I still love you," the message reads in English.
"Ang gusto ko lang sana na ikaw pa-ang lana na kanilala ko noon," it continues in Tagalog.
Translation: "I just want you to be the Lana (mother) I knew before."
The message was not signed, and therefore was not answered.
U.S. Fish & Wildlife agents Nix and a colleague, Amanda McLaughlin, however, have answered some of the messages in a bottle.
"I answered one letter, and it's beautiful what he sent me back," McLaughlin said without elaborating on her correspondence.
"You can't read them all the time. Some of them are just poems. Most people throw them off the side of the boat to see if someone finds them," McLaughlin explained.
One message that McLaughlin answered was dropped into the water by Jutta Schumann of Lemwerder, Germany. She had accompanied her husband, Hans, who captained a container ship from Europe to Miami, Houston, New Orleans and Veracruz, México.
"Today this bottle was thrown into the water, June 30, 1994, near New Orleans. I am the wife of the captain of the ship and enjoyed the trip to USA (and) México. Soon we will be in Europe. Good luck to you, Jutta Schumann. Please write to me and tell me where you found it," she wrote.
Once she received a letter from McLaughlin regarding her message in a bottle, found on Matagorda Island, Jutta responded with a three page letter dated Aug. 19, 2005 in Lemwerder.
"Your answer was the 43rd and was found after 11 years. She was the longest in the water. Before (that) one was found in France five years after sending. I got all kinds of letters, even one from a young man in Taiwan and he wrote in Chinese characters," Jutta wrote to McLaughlin.
Jutta revealed in her letter that her husband was retired and the couple (ages 67 and 65) "live in a small house near the city of Bremen in Northern Germany known for bad and rainy weather in the winter."
Her husband had settled into a hobby of building model whaling ships, but they retained an interest in "things around the world."
Jutta included a photograph of herself and Hans at their home in Germany.
"I would love to hear from you and about your work. I can see you – or some of you – going onto a beach and walking along the beach at Matagorda Island which is totally quiet and only sea turtles come ashore and I hope not so much junk and trash from ships (I feel bad about my bottle)," Jutta wrote, after consulting a map to locate the Texas barrier island.
Ryan Fisher was a 22-year-old, single, Austin resident who worked for Dell Computers when he penned a message and set it out to sea on April 26, 2000, while he was on a deep-sea fishing trip.
Obviously, he wasn't thinking that he was about to pollute one of the Gulf of México's more pristine barrier islands when he listed a couple of return email addresses and wrote a brief description about himself.
"I'm a very nice person. I think I'm a good human."
More likely, when Fisher launched his message in a bottle, using a method of communicating as random as waves on the sea, he was just trying to get a date.
Messages in a bottle are periodically found on the practically deserted beaches on Matagorda Island. Many of them are retrieved by volunteer turtle patrols that discover them among the other flotsam that washes ashore.
Some might consider messages in a bottle a romantic method for communicating with strangers across the seas, and others might consider them part of the heaps of trash that frequently pollute the beaches along the coastline.
"The bottle you have found is one of a wide row of bottles which I cast into the sea during the last several years," wrote Krzysztof Podgorniak, a 33-year-old Polish officer aboard the Philine Schulte, which sailed under the Isle of Man flag from Cartagena, Colombia to Houston.
"These bottles are my own way, how I try to find the ways of old seafarer's mail system. I will be very glad, if you can send me a letter or postcard only with number bottle, place, and date where you discovered it," wrote Podgorniak on a sheet of paper.
He listed his home address in Olsztyn, Poland. The bottle was found on Matagorda Island on April 20, 2005. The bottle was numbered 169-01-04-PHS, suggesting that the Polish sailor did not consider the impact of his chosen way of coping with the tedium of shipboard life.
"The bottles are considered beach debris," Nix acknowledged, but she also concedes that the idea of a message in a bottle conjures mysterious and romantic notions, much like the words "I'm sending out an S.O.S.," as sung by Sting of The Police, in 1979.
A legendary seafarer's mail system, or just more litter on the beach?

Article originally published in the Aransas Pass Progress and the Ingleside Index

Who is banning the books?

Government agencies, to name a few.

U.S. Bureau of Customs
U.S. Food and Drug Administration
U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service
U.S. Information Agency (USIA)
U.S. Justice Department
U.S. Postal Service
U.S. Treasury Department

click on the link to see a list of more book banners.

Gorilla celebrates holidays with Wellman family

By Michael Cary
A thousand pound gorilla takes up residence in your front yard.
What are you going to do about it?
Dress him up as Cupid on Valentine's Day.
In the springtime, paint him pink and hide Easter eggs under his nose.
During high school football season, guess who's a sidelines cheerleader?
A thousand pound gorilla in your yard can turn some heads as a Thanksgiving turkey, or with a large red Christmas bow on his hat.
The question remains, just how did that gorilla find a home in your front yard?
"It all started when I wouldn't tell my husband what I wanted for my birthday," explains Marsha Wellman, an Aransas Pass transplant (15 years ago) from Bryan/College Station (Texas).
"My husband said 'be careful what you ask for,'" Wellman said, regarding the 1,100-pound concrete gorilla that sits in her front yard on Saunders Street.
The gorilla, a product of a statuary company in Taft, required a forklift to take him off the truck when Gerald Wellman brought it home for his wife's birthday in 2002.
Since then, the Wellmans and their neighbors have enjoyed dressing him up for special occasions – he has his own boat and welcomes friends who come to town for fishing trips.
"We both work on his outfits," Marsha said. "And my neighbor, Hope Dávila, is the one who dressed him up as a Panthers cheerleader.
"We do something patriotic in July, one year he was Uncle Sam, and during Easter he is a pink bunny almost every time," she said.
It has gotten to the point that people stop by to take photos with the gorilla, and neighbors ask why he's not dressed up when the Wellmans forget a holiday.
The gorilla, which still has no name, is a welcome addition to grandma and grandpa's yard for Abby Krisl, who lives in Aransas Pass, and John Wellman, who visits occasionally from Katy.
"We dressed him up one year for Shrimporee, and Gerald and I cooked shrimp for our friends," Marsha said.
"He had on an apron and carried a shrimp net, but he wasn't in the parade, he's too heavy," she said.
Currently, the thousand-pound gorilla is painted snow white, wears a pilgrim's hat (his Thanksgiving turkey feathers are now stored in the garage), a large red bow, a muffler around his neck, and he is spending the Christmas holiday as Frosty the Snowman, complete with charcoal eyes and a carrot nose.
"When it snowed in 2004, he was a reindeer. He looked wonderful," Marsha said.
The gorilla is a reminder of where the Wellmans came from. They frequently traveled through La Grange near Bryan/College Station, and frequently saw a large concrete gorilla in a yard in that town.
But the inspiration came to Gerald when his wife wouldn't tell him what she wanted for her birthday.
"Now there's a list every year," Marsha said.

SUSTAINING SIEMPRE SUSTAINABLE NETWORK pbm 1/4/10

I know that we who have participated in Siempre Sustainable Network for the past two years and some months will continue to work on various fronts to move local and global community toward quality life for all. But as Romelia Escamilla and Jose Antonio Conteras et al. demonstrated through guided participatory activities in our last meeting, it could also be helpful if our Siempre Sustainable Network would strategically plan in a more formal and structured fashion toward sustainable livelihoods for all, and for resilient and sustainable community.

……………………………….
Some Background. When I graduated from high school in 1964* the world had half as many folk and transformed for human use less than a third of the energy it does now. Back then I began to dream of returning to and helping to sustain much of the culture, the Land and Nature which formed me and provided quality life for me, my family and much of the rural community in which I was raised. And over time I came to appreciate that many of the conservation practices and the relatively low-input behaviors of my family and village, were indeed important components of sustainability.

Then about 20 years ago, in several publications, including The American Journal of Alternative Agriculture [“Sustainable agriculture: A process at the community level.” AJAA 6(1):2], I and others opined (after review of some of the literature, and from our previous research and experiences in community) that the some of the basic and essential features for a process of sustainable and resilient community include:

1. review of community history and development to identify roots of sustainability in community,
2. assessment of natural and human resources, and quality of life,
3. definition of a community’s geographic, societal, and ecological boundaries with consideration for migratory trends of populations,
4. team building and leadership development for all sectors,
5. goal-setting, policy, action plan development,
6. testing management tactics,
7. financing strategic and tactical actions,
8. measuring for resilience and sustainability; analyzing, evaluating, and replanning, and
9. quality continuing education.

Basically I personally hoped that such a process would move local and global community toward conservation and reduced consumption and exploitation, and toward a quality life for all—including the current poor, and other species--through truly living lighter on the Land and in concert with Nature.

………………………………..
As far as development of Siempre Sustainable Network is concerned, we tentatively developed a vision/mission statement, goals and strategies in our initial meetings (Fall/Winter 2007).

Because the critical mass of folk involved, commitment, resources and human energy involved was (and still is) fragile, we decided to focus on continuing education, dialogue concerning sustainability, and dissemination of information related to developing sustainable livelihoods and resilient and sustainable community. We did also take some visible (and I think important) action toward realizing food systems which are more local, including community gardens.

Siempre Sustainable Network naturally became involved in other community activities as an interested party, as a listener, as a facilitator, and as a partner—i.e., in ways in which a relatively informal network/net-workers is/are all about. We’ve been involved in a limited way with the activities of a number of other organizations or groups who are learning to be more and more “sustainable”: e.g., on the Earth Day committee and in actual Earth Day activities, in formulating the recent Comprehensive Master Plan for the City of Seguin, in providing food for the Christian Cupboard, and in some of the efforts of helping local farmers—including organic farmers and limited assistance with the local farmers market--and helping churches, service organizations and Texas Lutheran University, move toward sustainability.

Cutting to the Chase. I believe we should continue as Siempre Sustainable Network to have the regular information meetings we have been having--in more or less the same fashion. However, we definitely do need to have a process which will enable regular participants and the larger community to more easily and actively participate in the selection of topics. (Our Siempre acting chair, Marvel Maddox, recently suggested that some of the key ideas from the participatory/pre-goal-setting/strategic planning session facilitated at our December 2009 meeting could be helpful in identifying general topic areas for our regular meetings.)

It is difficult/”impossible” to do the community garden projects/initiative in a perfectly “right way”, and to really make the process sustainable in a more holistic way, and particularly to truly involve those in most need as active participants in every way—i.e. in:

- educating about local food systems and sustainable livelihoods/community,
- developing rules and regulations and signage,
- long and short-term planning, developing the organizational structure, plot/raised bed layout and management, and selecting annual and perennial crops,
- land-prep, composting/fertilizing, setting up efficient water catchment and irrigation-systems, - planting, mulching, maintenance, and
- harvest, processing, and food-prep.

Nevertheless, I strongly believe we should maintain and develop this very visible community gardens-effort, even if it is a long way from being perfect.

Early on folk who were attending our Siempre Sustainable Network were anxious to take local or global action, become advocates for a particular cause, or more specifically to get involved in specific actions such as:

- reduction of waste/trash/pollution generation, and improvement of reuse, recycling efforts in Seguin and environs,
- dealing with the local utility rate structures such that such policy actions realized conservation and supported the poor in getting ahead,
- protecting native biotic communities,
- developing a Master Naturalist program,
- getting more involved with the Guadalupe Co. AgriLife and Extension activities,
- volunteering at the Seguin Outdoor Learning center,
- promoting appropriate “Green” technologies and practices,
- encouraging water conservation including rain-water catchment systems,
- helping with the Walnut Branch restoration project,
- continuing with goal-setting and strategic-planning toward sustainable livelihoods and resilient and sustainable community,
- working on food justice issues and organic agriculture,
- appropriate day care for individuals of various needy families in community,
- working toward peace and abolishing war,
- enabling the poor, powerless, disenfranchised to be the primary and initial benefactors of various efforts toward sustainable livelihoods and sustainable community,
- revamping local public school systems,
- becoming more connected and even formally associated with some really good national and international organizations doing what we are trying to do,
- taking a real activist role in addressing global climate change policy at the national and international level, and actively working for carbon taxes, etc., and/or
- realizing a truly holistic appraisal of the current and dynamic state of local counties, community/watershed/bioregion/ecosystem/… and establishing sustainability indicators and benchmarks, etc..


It is obvious that all these individual concerns and desired actions are all very important to address as local and global community if we are to move toward sustainable livelihoods in sustainable community.

However, primarily because we are few in number, and since our interests in the arena of sustainability do vary considerably and we are simply a relatively informal network-- I would suggest that at this time we continue our present principle efforts, i.e. monthly presentations and discussion and participation in other educational opportunities, and work on community gardens while doing some continuing strategic planning on occasions other than our regular monthly meetings. (Of course we would continue to have limited additional participation with other key organizations which have a real interest in developing quality life for community in a role as communicator and facilitator--i.e., net-worker--toward sustainability.)

These activities would be continued under our title as Siempre Sustainable Network--and in close collaboration with Mosaic Community Church, My Father’s Farm and TLU’s Center for Servant Leadership, as well as with collaborations with other interested community entities. (This isn’t really a proposal which originated from me, but was also more or less proposed by others, and seemed to have some consensus in our last meeting.)


Even though we do share a common vision, we have individual passions for realizing varied components of sustainability. And even though we have had over 100 folk from the larger community attend selected Siempre meetings, our core group of regular participants is relatively small and we should perhaps be careful about adding additional Siempre initiatives.

Despite my stressing the need to discipline ourselves from taking on too much, we might consider setting up the following task forces/committees (standing, working, ad hoc; active or inactive) which can be taken on and utilized by various participants of Siempre as an interest becomes strong enough to support an adequate number of members:

o Siempre’s Strategic Planning Effort—(If we decide we have the appropriate “critical mass” and desire, etc., at some time in the future we might even establish a governing board and advisory board through this effort and become more formally organized and structured.)

o “Siempre in Action” Task Forces—Should there be enough folk with adequate desire and energy interested in the particular action item, “this task force” would obviously be realized as “various task forces,/committees” including for example those on:

--Reducing, Reusing, Recycling
--Utility Rate Restructuring (and other City/County
Sustainability-Initiatives to Help the Poor Realize Quality Life),
--Stimulus-Package Funding of Retrofitting Homes (of the Poor
for Energy Conservation/Family Budget Assistance),
--Root Causes of Local Substance Abuse (and How Might this be
Effectively Addressed)

o Siempre’s Master Naturalist Committee

o Siempre’s Sustainable Livelihoods Committee

o Siempre’s Global Climate Change Committee

Finally, I personally am going to try to spend more time developing the following areas of personal interest:

- I may take some courses as well as teach at (an) education institution(s) in attempts to move these institutions toward sustainability across the curriculum.
- My desire is to continue to develop an idea for a small charter middle "school of sustainable livelihoods and sustainable community".
- I hope to more effectively connect with leaders working on what I consider to be key sustainability issues around the U.S. and the world.
- After my wife Betsy retires, we’ll further discuss the possibility/feasibility/possible positive impact of doing some Peace Corps-type volunteering. …

Certainly I realize there are numerous folk with their own local-, national- and global-sustainability “irons in the fire”. … Should the opportunities and desires come about, these dreams and efforts of all of ours might possibly become a formal part of Siempre Sustainable Network’s efforts in the near or distant future.



The fragility of what we are trying to do through Siempre Sustainable Network is that it is hard to get one’s mind, energy, and especially the community to which we belong around a concept and process that is socio-economically, politically (culturally) and holistically/ecologically very complex in the deepest and largest sense. The whole of the sustainability process is mind-boggling because it is at the same time local and global, and involves us all, including other species … as well as the mineral and water cycles and the energy flux/transformations on which we depend in a much interconnected way. And it is tough to deal with because it bucks up against much of what has recently become such an integral part of conventional human socio-political/economic structures, i.e.:

- excessive consumption and consumerism,
- the perceived need for: more (processed) food/food supplements; larger homes, more clothes, and more toys; superfluous packaging; automobiles; high-input entertainment disconnected with local community; air-conditioning; increased human transformation of energy; and general rampant “artificialization of ‘Nature’”,
- virtual realities which are largely disconnected from the real processes of Land and Nature on which quality life depends,
- loss of sense of place and community … and loss of balance of power locally and globally,
- problems of listening in an informed and intelligent manner and truly communicating, and
- related problems in a world of ca. 7 billion with ca. one billion who have more than ever before and who largely put up walls to--at least "virtually”--eliminate the billion who are have less than ever before and who are truly struggling to survive.

The strength of our effort is that somewhere in back of the minds of individuals in community, or in the collective mindset of the community, there is knowledge that our current system is truly non-resilient and unsustainable--and that we need radical change. Of course the current global economic challenges, security concerns, continuing terror/war, tea parties, shouting matches at town meetings indicate that need for radical change is at the forefront of some folks minds because of a doomed process currently being employed in the world which is wrongfully intent on:

- conquering Nature,
- unsustainably exploiting the Land,
- excessively consuming, and
- ignoring the need for human population regulation.

(Our desire through Siempre Sustainable Network is to begin to locally and globally change a system which is exploitive of the have-nots, powerless, and de facto or ex facto disenfranchised—including other species—and to lessen our individual and collective ecological footprint and energy transformation.)

[By the way, there are many attempts at holistically achieving local and global sustainable livelihoods & community which are more or less functioning, from which we can learn and use in developing Siempre Sustainable Network, e.g.:

-- Ogallala Commons and its 12 Commonwealths http://quiviracoalition.org/.../1648-Commonwealths_as_Foundations_of_Resilience_Presentation.pdf

-- Holistic Management International, Inc. and its decision-making model/process http://attra.ncat.org/attra-pub/PDF/holistic.pdf

-- The Sustainable Livelihoods Approach of the UK & UN www.odi.org.uk www.ifad.org/sla/

-- Social Ecology Work of Stuart Hill in Australia www.stuartbhill.com/

-- Social Ecology Research of Helmut Haberl, Univ. Vienna and his historical ecological footprinting and “input/throughtput/output”-comparative analysis of material flow and energy flux in systems www.uni-klu.ac.at/socec/inhalt/803.htm

-- The policy work of the Center for Rural Affairs www.cfra.org/

-- Natural farming/perennial cropping systems work of The Land Institute www.ifad.org/sla/

-- The Quivira Coalition www.quiviracoalition.org/

-- ATTRA http://attra.ncat.org/

-- Etc., etc., etc.]

………………………………
*This year—if I make ‘til November—I’ll be 64!

“Doing the [community] garden[s], digging the weeds. Who could ask for more? …
We shall scrimp and save.
[3+] Grandchildren on your knee. …
Will you still need me, will you still feed me? When I'm sixty-four?”

The New Canary in the Coal Mine

I recently saw the Disney Movie, “The Princess and the Frog,” in which the animators recreated the colorful and melodious experience of the Louisiana Bayou. As suggested by the title, the frogs of the Bayou played a stellar role. As I watched the movie with my youngest, I was thinking of the vulnerabilities of these precious wetlands and growing threats to their inhabitants—the frogs.

With the ongoing debate over the health and environmental effects of climate change on animals, increasingly, frogs and their fellow amphibians are becoming the new “canaries in the coal mine.” Since amphibians’ skin is permeable, these creatures are more susceptible to contaminants and changes in their aquatic habitats. By their very nature, they are considered a “sentinel” species, hence, the term of the “canary in the coal mine.”

There are over five thousand species of amphibians worldwide. Many live throughout North America. In Puerto Rico, our favorite amphibian is the coquí—eleutherodactylus coquí. Eleutherodactylus comes from the Greek meaning free toes. Coquí, its popular name, refers to its high decibel chirp “co-KEE.” In general, these amphibians have adapted well to urban sprawl on the Island, however, pollution is taking its toll. While over 16 species are endemic to Puerto Rico, several coquí species are currently threatened. Some species known by their popular Spanish names haven’t been heard in years. As I have mentioned in previous blog entries, these small frogs have been introduced to neighboring Islands, Florida and even Hawaii where they are considered an invasive pest.

We all can do something to protect wildlife and the environment in our daily lives. How can we help protect the frogs and their fellow amphibians from environmental contaminants in our own back yard? Well, one of the first steps is to reduce the use of chemical pesticides and fertilizers in our lawn that are carried by runoff and end up polluting their aquatic habitats miles away. By planting native grasses, shrubs, and trees in your garden you also minimize the need for using toxic chemicals around your home. While I don’t recommend kissing a frog, please help protect it and its habitat. A healthy environment is a gift for all.

About the author: Lina Younes has been working for EPA since 2002 and chairs EPA’s Multilingual Communications Task Force. Prior to joining EPA, she was the Washington bureau chief for two Puerto Rican newspapers and she has worked for several government agencies.

Sent to me by Uncle Bob

$5.37. That's what the kid behind the counter at Taco Bell said to me.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out some lint and two dimes and something that used to be a Jolly Rancher. Having already handed the kid a five-spot, I started to head back out to the truck to grab some change when the kid with the Emo hairdo said the harshest thing anyone has ever said to me.

He said, "It's OK. I'll just give you the senior citizen discount."

I turned to see who he was talking to and then heard the sound of change hitting the counter in front of me. "Only $4.68" he said cheerfully.

I stood there stupefied. I am 48, not even 50 yet? A mere child! Senior citizen?

I took my burrito and walked out to the truck wondering what was wrong with Emo. Was he blind? As I sat in the truck, my blood began to boil. Old? Me?

I'll show him, I thought. I opened the door and headed back inside. I strode to the counter, and there he was waiting with a smile.

Before I could say a word, he held up something and jingled it in front of me, like I could be that easily distracted!
What am I now?
A toddler?

"Dude! Can't get too far without your car keys, eh?"

I stared with utter disdain at the keys.
I began to rationalize in my mind.
"Leaving keys behind hardly makes a man elderly!
It could happen to anyone!"
I turned and headed back to the truck.
I slipped the key into the ignition, but it wouldn't turn.
What now?
I checked my keys and tried another.
Still nothing.
That's when I noticed the purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror.
I had no purple beads hanging from my rearview mirror.

Then, a few other objects came into focus. The car seat in the back seat. Happy Meal toys spread all over the floorboard. A partially eaten doughnut on the dashboard.

Faster than you can say ginkgo biloba, I flew out of the alien vehicle.
Moments later I was speeding out of the parking lot, relieved to finally be leaving this nightmarish stop in my life. That is when I felt it, deep in the bowels of my stomach: hunger! My stomach growled and churned, and I reached to grab my burrito, only it was nowhere to be found.

I swung the truck around, gathered my courage, and strode back into the restaurant one final time. There Emo stood, draped in youth and black nail polish. All I could think was, "What is the world coming to?" All I could say was, "Did I leave my food and drink in here?" At this point I was ready to ask a Boy Scout to help me back to my vehicle, and then go straight home and apply for Social Security benefits.

Emo had no clue. I walked back out to the truck, and suddenly a young lad came up and tugged on my jeans to get my attention. He was holding up a drink and a bag. His mother explained, "I think you left this in my truck by mistake."

I took the food and drink from the little boy and sheepishly apologized.

She offered these kind words: "It's OK. My grandfather does stuff like this all the time."

All of this is to explain how I got a ticket doing 85 in a 40. Yes, I
was racing some punk kid in a Toyota Prius.. And no, I told the officer, I'm not too old to be driving this fast.

As I walked in the front door, my wife met me halfway down the hall. I handed her a bag of cold food and a $300 speeding ticket. I promptly sat in my rocking chair and covered up my legs with a blanky.

The Kind and Generous People of Port Aransas

I was watching Paranormal State on TV anticipating my shower prior to volunteering at the Computer Center in Port Aransas when up drove the Christmas Food Pantry delivery truck from the VFW. They were welcomed with open arms.
I have been unemployed since August when I was fired from Bundy's by a disagreeable manager. Let me be clear. The owner, Tammy, is great. We got along fine. The manager, which shall remain nameless, had no coffee making knowledge or experience so my days were numbered. That, and Sagittarius and Leos are not getting along these days. So, I filed for unemployment and despite the managers lies, I was provided benefits. It might have had something to do with the fact that I had documentation to support my claim.
Anywho, I am the cliche, perverbial struggling artist. I must say tho, that, because of this time off, I was able to take care of a pesky wrist problem resolved by surgical intervention. I could work, but it would be VERY difficult. I was under so much pre-surgery pain, I could not lift a glass, plate of food, or even the TV remote. My hand would be reduced to tremors.
I was diagnosed as having DeQuervain's Tenosynovitis.
It was corrected at Christus Spohn Memorial Hospital. Let me tell ya, those folks are just the best. From the surgeon, Dr. Rivera, on down, they are a kind, class act. That was 12 days ago. The incision is healing just fine (they glued it together, yikes!) and I'm busily looking for a job during a recession just before Christmas.
Needless to say, money is TIGHT. My faith in people is always restored by the fine folks of Port Aransas. I bitch and gripe about how there's no new music here. How the locals are um...er... refreshingly blunt. How everybody knows what you're going to do before you do it. The tourist brochure look of the local newspaper. The lack of jobs here. And I think I'll stop there. I'll stop because mid-rant, I realize that I've met some fine people here, just as well.
Today, the volunteers from the pantry from the Presbyterian Church drove by to give me and my neighbor, Bicycle Bob, a box of food for Christmas. A turkey, a ham, a box of potatos, a box of stuffing, apples, oranges, rice stix (I need to find out what those even are), a jar of peanut butter, a 10 lb. bag of potatos, a can of yams, a few cans of vegetables, and more stuff I can't recall at the moment. I am so overwhelmed that a small town like Port A can manage to put all that together for their needy and seasonally unemployed, that I remind myself why I moved here and why I like to live here.
I have met the best friend I've had in years since my friend, Chris, died of lung cancer about 5 years ago. I enjoy working with goofball and ladies' man, Luis Villarreal, making our own brand of music. I love Trish and Grady who run the Intaxicated Taxi Service. I love Tom Lovett of Lovetts and I'd better stop because I know I'll leave someone out.
They have a Songwriter Showcase at the Tarpon Inn to rival anything I've sung at in Dallas.
And then here they are today, dropping off all this food.
I am looking forward to a great Christmas with my friend Joanne, her kids and parents, my snowbird friend, Richard, and maybe Luis. We will eat, mock the TV, eat some more, mock the TV, perhaps grab a blanket and nap, eat, and watch more TV until we decide Christmas is over for the day.
But when we say grace, I will will be sure to mention the kind and considerate people of the Presbyterian Church and the VFW who do so much good for so many people.
When I say I love living in Paradise, I'm not just talking about the weather and the beach.
Merry Christmas and Happy Hannukah to all.

Bougainvillea tree, Oaxaca

Reposting this photo. One of my favorite times in 2005.

Hola Howdy Hi Hello Cheerio

Just dropping in very quickly to say, "hi" and introduce myself before I start posting and you wonder who the hell I am.

My name is Alma. Born and raised in Kingsville TX. Lived most of my life in Dallas, but have lived in Corpus Christi, San Antonio, the burbs of Dallas, Corpus Christi Beach (locals call it North Beach), and now live in Port Aransas.

I am a lifelong musician and have always wanted to put down my observations as my life seems to be of endless amusement to me. Some folks have told me I'm funny. I dunno. Most of the time I see myself resembling the RCA dog with it's head cocked to the side in an eternal state of "WTF?"

I'm hoping to talk here about various things including Port A, music, music biz, the locals, food, art, books, ya know, the stuff that makes life interesting. For the record, I'm straight and view both men and women with a jaundiced eye, so spend much of my time alone.

So, that's all for today. Hopefully, you'll get a glimpse of the life of a musician of a certain age living in paradise. C ya soonl.

Burial at Sea

Burial at Sea

by LtCol George Goodson, USMC (Ret)

In my 76th year, the events of my life appear to me, from time to time, as a series of vignettes. Some were significant; most were trivial.

War is the seminal event in the life of everyone that has endured it. Though I fought in Korea and the Dominican Republic and was wounded there, Vietnam was my war.

Now 42 years have passed and, thankfully, I rarely think of those days in Cambodia, Laos, and the panhandle of North Vietnam where small teams of Americans and Montagnards fought much larger elements of the North Vietnamese Army. Instead I see vignettes: some exotic, some mundane:

*The smell of Nuc Mam.
*The heat, dust, and humidity.
*The blue exhaust of cycles clogging the streets.
*Elephants moving silently through the tall grass.
*Hard eyes behind the servile smiles of the villagers.
*Standing on a mountain in Laos and hearing a tiger roar.
*A young girl squeezing my hand as my medic delivered her baby.
*The flowing Ao Dais of the young women biking down Tran Hung Dao.
*My two years as Casualty Notification Officer in North Carolina, Virginia, and Maryland.

It was late 1967. I had just returned after 18 months in Vietnam. Casualties were increasing. I moved my family from Indianapolis to Norfolk, rented a house, enrolled my children in their fifth or sixth new school, and bought a second car.

A week later, I put on my uniform and drove 10 miles to Little Creek, Virginia. I hesitated before entering my new office. Appearance is important to career Marines. I was no longer, if ever, a poster Marine. I had returned from my third tour in Vietnam only 30 days before. At 5'9", I now weighed 128 pounds - 37 pounds below my normal weight. My uniforms fit ludicrously, my skin was yellow from malaria medication, and I think I had a twitch or two.

I straightened my shoulders, walked into the office, looked at the nameplate on a Staff Sergeant's desk and said, "Sergeant Jolly, I'm Lieutenant Colonel Goodson. Here are my orders and my Qualification Jacket."

Sergeant Jolly stood, looked carefully at me, took my orders, stuck out his hand; we shook and he asked, "How long were you there, Colonel?" I replied "18 months this time." Jolly breathed, you must be a slow learner Colonel." I smiled.

Jolly said, "Colonel, I'll show you to your office and bring in the Sergeant Major. I said, "No, let's just go straight to his office." Jolly nodded, hesitated, and lowered his voice, "Colonel, the Sergeant Major. He's been in this job two years. He's packed pretty tight. I'm worried about him." I nodded.

Jolly escorted me into the Sergeant Major's office. "Sergeant Major, this is Colonel Goodson, the new Commanding Office The Sergeant Major stood, extended his hand and said, "Good to see you again, Colonel." I responded, "Hello Walt, how are you?" Jolly looked at me, raised an eyebrow, walked out, and closed the door.

I sat down with the Sergeant Major. We had the obligatory cup of coffee and talked about mutual acquaintances. Walt's stress was palpable. Finally, I said, "Walt, what's the h-ll's wrong?" He turned his chair, looked out the window and said, "George, you're going to wish you were back in Nam before you leave here. I've been in the Marine Corps since 1939. I was in the Pacific 36 months, Korea for 14 months, and Vietnam for 12 months Now I come here to bury these kids. I'm putting my letter in. I can't take it anymore." I said, "OK Walt. If that's what you want, I'll endorse your request for retirement and do what I can to push it through Headquarters Marine Corps."

Sergeant Major Walt Xxxxx retired 12 weeks later. He had been a good Marine for 28 years, but he had seen too much death and too much suffering. He was used up.

Over the next 16 months, I made 28 death notifications, conducted 28 military funerals, and made 30 notifications to the families of Marines that were severely wounded or missing in action. Most of the details of those casualty notifications have now, thankfully, faded from memory. Four, however, remain.

MY FIRST NOTIFICATION
My third or fourth day in Norfolk, I was notified of the death of a 19 year old Marine. This notification came by telephone from Headquarters Marine Corps. The information detailed:

*Name, rank, and serial number.
*Name, address, and phone number of next of kin.
*Date of and limited details about the Marine's death.
*Approximate date the body would arrive at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
*A strong recommendation on whether the casket should be opened or closed.

The boy's family lived over the border in North Carolina, about 60 miles away. I drove there in a Marine Corps staff car. Crossing the state line into North Carolina, I stopped at a small country store / service station / Post Office. I went in to ask directions.

Three people were in the store. A man and woman approached the small Post Office window. The man held a package. The Storeowner walked up and addressed them by name, "Hello John. Good morning Mrs. Cooper."

I was stunned. My casualty's next-of-kin' s name was John Cooper!

I hesitated, then stepped forward and said, "I beg your pardon. Are you Mr. and Mrs. John Cooper of (address.)

The father looked at me-I was in uniform - and then, shaking, bent at the waist, he vomited. His wife looked horrified at him and then at me. Understanding came into her eyes and she collapsed in slow motion. I think I caught her before she hit the floor.

The owner took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer and handed it to Mr. Cooper who drank. I answered their questions for a few minutes. Then I drove them home in my staff car. The storeowner locked the store and followed in their truck. We stayed an hour or so until the family began arriving.

I returned the storeowner to his business. He thanked me and said, "Mister, I wouldn't have your job for a million dollars." I shook his hand and said; "Neither would I."

I vaguely remember the drive back to Norfolk. Violating about five Marine Corps regulations, I drove the staff car straight to my house. I sat with my family while they ate dinner, went into the den, closed the door, and sat there all night, alone.

My Marines steered clear of me for days. I had made my first death notification.

THE FUNERALS
Weeks passed with more notifications and more funerals. I borrowed Marines from the local Marine Corps Reserve and taught them to conduct a military funeral: how to carry a casket, how to fire the volleys and how to fold the flag.

When I presented the flag to the mother, wife, or father, I always said, "All Marines share in your grief." I had been instructed to say, "On behalf of a grateful nation...." I didn't think the nation was grateful, so I didn't say that.

Sometimes, my emotions got the best of me and I couldn't speak. When that happened, I just handed them the flag and touched a shoulder. They would look at me and nod. Once a mother said to me, "I'm so sorry you have this terrible job." My eyes filled with tears and I leaned over and kissed her.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
Six weeks after my first notification, I had another. This was a young PFC. I drove to his mother's house. As always, I was in uniform and driving a Marine Corps staff car. I parked in front of the house, took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. Suddenly the door flew open, a middle-aged woman rushed out. She looked at me and ran across the yard, screaming "NO! NO! NO! NO!"

I hesitated. Neighbors came out. I ran to her, grabbed her, and whispered stupid things to reassure her. She collapsed. I picked her up and carried her into the house. Eight or nine neighbors followed. Ten or fifteen later, the father came in followed by ambulance personnel. I have no recollection of leaving.

The funeral took place about two weeks later. We went through the drill. The mother never looked at me. The father looked at me once and shook his head sadly.

ANOTHER NOTIFICATION
One morning, as I walked in the office, the phone was ringing. Sergeant Jolly held the phone up and said, "You've got another one, Colonel." I nodded, walked into my office, picked up the phone, took notes, thanked the officer making the call, I have no idea why, and hung up. Jolly, who had listened, came in with a special Telephone Directory that translates telephone numbers into the person's address and place of employment.

The father of this casualty was a Longshoreman. He lived a mile from my office. I called the Longshoreman' s Union Office and asked for the Business Manager. He answered the phone, I told him who I was, and asked for the father's schedule.

The Business Manager asked, "Is it his son?" I said nothing. After a moment, he said, in a low voice, "Tom is at home today." I said, "Don't call him. I'll take care of that." The Business Manager said, "Aye, Aye Sir," and then explained, "Tom and I were Marines in WWII."

I got in my staff car and drove to the house. I was in uniform. I knocked and a woman in her early forties answered the door. I saw instantly that she was clueless. I asked, "Is Mr. Smith home?" She smiled pleasantly and responded, "Yes, but he's eating breakfast now. Can you come back later?" I said, "I'm sorry. It's important. I need to see him now."

She nodded, stepped back into the beach house and said, "Tom, it's for you."

A moment later, a ruddy man in his late forties, appeared at the door. He looked at me, turned absolutely pale, steadied himself, and said, "Jesus Christ man, he's only been there three weeks!"

Months passed. More notifications and more funerals. Then one day while I was running, Sergeant Jolly stepped outside the building and gave a loud whistle, two fingers in his mouth....... I never could do that..... and held an imaginary phone to his ear.

Another call from Headquarters Marine Corps. I took notes, said, "Got it." and hung up. I had stopped saying "Thank You" long ago.

Jolly, "Where?"

Me, "Eastern Shore of Maryland. The father is a retired Chief Petty Officer. His brother will accompany the body back from Vietnam...."

Jolly shook his head slowly, straightened, and then said, "This time of day, it'll take three hours to get there and back. I'll call the Naval Air Station and borrow a helicopter. And I'll have Captain Tolliver get one of his men to meet you and drive you to the Chief's home."

He did, and 40 minutes later, I was knocking on the father's door. He opened the door, looked at me, then looked at the Marine standing at parade rest beside the car, and asked, "Which one of my boys was it, Colonel?"

I stayed a couple of hours, gave him all the information, my office and home phone number and told him to call me, anytime.

He called me that evening about 2300 (11:00PM). "I've gone through my boy's papers and found his will. He asked to be buried at sea. Can you make that happen?" I said, "Yes I can, Chief. I can and I will."

My wife who had been listening said, "Can you do that?" I told her, "I have no idea. But I'm going to break my ass trying."

I called Lieutenant General Alpha Bowser, Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force Atlantic, at home about 2330, explained the situation, and asked, "General, can you get me a quick appointment with the Admiral at Atlantic Fleet Headquarters? " General Bowser said," George, you be there tomorrow at 0900. He will see you.

I was and the Admiral did. He said coldly, "How can the Navy help the Marine Corps, Colonel." I told him the story. He turned to his Chief of Staff and said, "Which is the sharpest destroyer in port?" The Chief of Staff responded with a name.

The Admiral called the ship, "Captain, you're going to do a burial at sea. You'll report to a Marine Lieutenant Colonel Goodson until this mission is completed... "

He hung up, looked at me, and said, "The next time you need a ship, Colonel, call me. You don't have to sic Al Bowser on my ass." I responded, "Aye Aye, Sir" and got the h-ll out of his office.

I went to the ship and met with the Captain, Executive Officer, and the Senior Chief. Sergeant Jolly and I trained the ship's crew for four days. Then Jolly raised a question none of us had thought of. He said, "These government caskets are air tight. How do we keep it from floating?"

All the high priced help including me sat there looking dumb. Then the Senior Chief stood and said, "Come on Jolly. I know a bar where the retired guys from World War II hang out."

They returned a couple of hours later, slightly the worst for wear, and said, "It's simple; we cut four 12" holes in the outer shell of the casket on each side and insert 300 lbs of lead in the foot end of the casket. We can handle that, no sweat."

The day arrived. The ship and the sailors looked razor sharp General Bowser, the Admiral, a US Senator, and a Navy Band were on board. The sealed casket was brought aboard and taken below for modification. The ship got underway to the 12-fathom depth.

The sun was hot. The ocean flat. The casket was brought aft and placed on a catafalque. The Chaplin spoke. The volleys were fired. The flag was removed, folded, and I gave it to the father. The band played "Eternal Father Strong to Save." The casket was raised slightly at the head and it slid into the sea.

The heavy casket plunged straight down about six feet. The incoming water collided with the air pockets in the outer shell. The casket stopped abruptly, rose straight out of the water about three feet, stopped, and slowly slipped back into the sea. The air bubbles rising from the sinking casket sparkled in the in the sunlight as the casket disappeared from sight forever....

The next morning I called a personal friend, Lieutenant General Oscar Peatross, at Headquarters Marine Corps and said, "General, get me out of here. I can't take this anymore." I was transferred two weeks later.

I was a good Marine but, after 17 years, I had seen too much death and too much suffering. I was used up.

Vacating the house, my family and I drove to the office in a two-car convoy. I said my goodbyes. Sergeant Jolly walked out with me. He waved at my family, looked at me with tears in his eyes, came to attention, saluted, and said, "Well Done, Colonel. Well Done."

Riverbillies, Lakebillies inspire newsroom joke

The summer of 2002 saw historical flood levels on the Guadalupe River.
On July 4, 2002, the spillway at Canyon Dam north of San Antonio, Texas was overwhelmed by 70,000 cubic feet per second of water flow, across a 1,200 feet length of an emergency spillway, cut into natural limestone rock.
The result was that houses built below the dam and in the city of New Braunfels were flooded by river water.
For many people who insisted on building in the river's flood plain, it was the second 100-year flood in four years.
They had been rescued by the Federal Emergency Management Agency's flood insurance program in 1998, but in 2002, they decided that property bailouts were a necessity; taxpayers should not pay for people who want to build their homes in places known to flood.
That caused an uproar.
Yours truly had coined a term regarding the types of personalities he had encountered visiting the lake region in another well-known reservoir - a sort of backwoodsy, long-haired, pile the beer bottles up behind the garage attitude.
The same sort of attitude prevailed among people who wanted to rebuild their homes along the lakeside and along the river.
So, he dubbed them Lakebillies, and Riverbillies, and shared the joke with other newsroom reporters and editors.
The terms lakebillies and riverbillies became part of the routine newsroom vocabulary, regarding people who wanted to live in flood prone areas and who expected taxpayers to bail them out whenever their pastoral existence was washed out.
About six months later, a mis-communication occurred.
The advertising department decided to launch a special promotion, and asked the editorial department to help, it had something to do with the river and the lake residents - marketing to them.
An e-mail was sent concerning a strategy for the promotion, targeting "lakebillies" and "riverbillies."
The two terms got printed into the promotional material, and was distributed by advertising executives to potential advertisers.
A thunderstorm of indignation ensued, and the advertisers complained to the publisher of the newspaper.
Parties involved were reprimanded, advertising executives were properly scolded, and the terms "lakebillies" and "riverbillies" were subsequently banned from use in the newsroom, either internally or externally.
But, the damage is done.
People who insist on living around a lakefront, even if they know it could wipe them out in a flood, should be referred to as Lakebillies.
And people who insist on living on the banks of a river should rightly be referred to as Riverbillies.
Publish that in your Urban Dictionary.

Found on Stumble

Why Can't I Own a Canadian?
October 2002

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a east coast resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them:

When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15:19- 24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted fan,
Jim

Marine scientists to investigate dead zone in Gulf of Mexico

AUSTIN, Texas — Whether a large area of low oxygen water called the "dead zone" in the northern Gulf of Mexico could cause declines in environmentally and economically important fish populations is the subject of a new study by University of Texas at Austin marine scientist Peter Thomas.

Thomas and colleagues at several universities have received $2 million in funding from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) to study the effects of hypoxia (low oxygen) on fish reproduction and model the impacts of hypoxia on the size of fish populations in the area, which is off the coast of Louisiana east of the Mississippi River.

"There has been a striking increase over the past 20 years in the size of the dead zone during the summer," says Thomas, professor of marine science at the University of Texas Marine Science Institute in Port Aransas. "But the long-term effects of its increase on the size of fish populations are unknown."

Marked suppression of reproduction in Atlantic croaker has already been documented at several hypoxic sites in the northern Gulf of Mexico.

In an initial study, Thomas found that male and female Atlantic croaker collected from hypoxic waters in Florida's East Bay near Pensacola had little ovarian and testicular growth, low egg and sperm production, and low levels of reproductive hormones during a time a year when they would normally be increasing in preparation for reproduction.

Recently, similar decreases in egg and sperm production and reproductive hormones were observed in croaker collected over a much larger area from the dead zone off the Louisiana coast.

Recent model simulations have predicted that this kind of decrease in reproduction can lead to population declines.

However, Thomas says that researchers need to obtain more precise information on the nature and extent of reproductive impairment of croaker throughout the dead zone, and further refine the croaker population models to increase their accuracy and utility as a fisheries management tool.

"Our goal is to provide resource managers with predictions about the impacts of hypoxia on fish populations that they can incorporate into their management decisions," says Thomas.

The Dead Zone varies in size, but can extend to 8,500 square miles (roughly the size of New Jersey) in some years. Incidences of seasonal coastal hypoxia have been increasing in oceans worldwide, largely the result of increased agricultural and industrial run-off.

Thomas will be working with Kenneth Rose and Dubravko Justic from Louisiana State University, Kevin Craig at Florida State University and Thomas Grothues at Rutgers University. The grant is part of NOAA's Gulf of Mexico Ecosystems and Hypoxia Assessment Program.