It's another Blue Monday. Yesterday as I lay sleeping I found myself aboard the Hitchcock Railway once again and somewhere in the distance I could hear the sound of a woman's voice singing a haunting tune originally written and performed by JJ Cale. This is one of those haunting pieces that seems to stay in the back of my mind no matter how many years pass by and I often wonder what the significance of the melody is to me. It is a mystery I have yet to solve and just might become a fascinating mystery for you to! Enjoy! And have a MAHVELOUS Blue Monday.

    My curiousity and imagination are cavorting around in my head today and I find myself asking the question: If you were to produce a film based on your life, who would you choose to play you? Or would you choose to star as yourself?
    I don't think I would. I would definitely want to be the director, but not the leading male actor. I would much prefer to cast myself in a subtle kind of supporting role. And the one I'd probably choose to play "me"? I s'pose Nick Nolte would come as close as anyone I can think of.
    And what would you choose to produce? Would it be an autobiography? Or something fictional? How much of your actual life experiences would you include in the script? For me it would surely be fictional, though I'd include some actual events and A LOT of mystery and an ending no one would see coming.

    Computers, motor cars and plastic bottles all represent love/hate relationships with me. Plastic bottles drive me completely bezzeretchi! They're contrary to everything in nature and I detest them, until I drop one containing some delightful elixer I'm fond of and then I find myself with an embarrassed smile and the knowledge that even though I've had one of those klutzy moments the liquid inside is still intact and not running all over my galley floor.
    Motor cars are many things to many people. NO one wants to be seen driving a Nash Rambler. BMW and Lexux and VW defines the yuppie preference; well those and the variety of boat anchors (uh, I mean SUV's) crowding the freeways and backroads. Don't get me wrong. I've owned a few new vehicles in my life and they were shiny and cool and fun to drive. They were also ALL the worst investments I ever made. What else could I purchase and within six months find they're now worth about half what I originally paid for them?? Sheesh! All that because my ego needed a kick start. Now I drive a battered old cargo van and I'm reasonably content. It, like me, isn't very pretty, but it is amazingly durable and will most likely run for at least awhile longer. Mrs. Morgan recently bought an early 90's Buick and is as happy with her $1100 vehicle as others are with their $30,000 SUV. VERY cool, I say!
    Then there's the longest running love/hate relationship of all: Computers! Yes, computers. Those infernal boxes of wire and hardware and gigibytes and megahertz and heaven knows what else. In the 1970's and 80's I became fascinated with them. I became incurably curious as to how they function. I learned a several computer languages. I began to write simple programs using Basic Assembler Language, COBOL, FORTRAN and RPG. At first it was great fun and a never-ending source of amazement. In the 1970's I'd slip in to the computer room where my ex-wife worked and use her employer's system to run my programs.
    In the 1980's, not long after Mrs Morgan and I married, I bought a Texas Instruments computer and began to play around again. It was an amazing invention, much different than the gaurgantuan IBM System 360 I'd messed with before. This system was smaller, but it was mine and fit on a computer desk in our living room. I began writing simple programs, mostly for our kids. One was a horse racing game, another was a game that taught them about state capitols and another that taught them math. Because they could never decide who should be first to take a bath I even devised a nifty program to decide each night who'd be first in the tub. It was great fun. It also swallowed up ALL my free time. It didn't take me too long to discover that Mrs Morgan DID NOT take kindly to being ignored while I messed around with computer code and such. She was right! Sex with her was WAY more satisfying than fooling around with a computer!
    As 1990 approached, we sold the TI Computer and put the proceeds of the sale together with the other finances we'd scraped together and started a business together. After struggling for two long years, trying to run a business with NO computer, Chey managed to convince me that our business REALLY needed to be computerized. At first I resisted, but then relented. I STILL remember that first computer. We bought it used and had NO idea how it functioned. It was so different from what I'd encountered before and I was thoroughly intimidated by all the cables and hardware, not to mention the fear I felt when I finally got it running and tried to figure out how to use it. Our dear friends, Seoni and Mostafa (both amazing computer geeks) spent hours with us teaching us all manner of stuff that for a very long time made no sense at all. Gradually we began to learn a little. Somewhere through it all my curiousity began to outweigh my intimidation and I began to experiment more and more. Eventually I came to realize I was COMPLETELY computer dependent! I couldn't believe it! Just what I SWORE would never happen, did! 
    Then that dreaded day came in 1991. Our trusted Amiga crashed and burned. It was a terminal case. And to make matters worse, the company that manufactured them had gone out of business a year before.
    I broke out in a cold sweat, realizing I now needed to choose another computer system and quickly! As I walked the aisles of the local computer store I saw systems of all types and configurations. There were computers running the Windows O/S and there were others using the Mac O/S. After a lot of hand wringing I discovered the Mac computers felt more like what I was used to. Eventually I returned to our office with our first brand new Apple computer. It only took me two days to muck it up so badly it wouldn't run and I returned to the store to swap it for another. The second attempt was more successful, though I admit, I spent countless hours on the phone with tech support. They must have cringed ever time they saw me calling again, but they displayed the patience of Job and an awesome amount of technical expertise. Finally! We were up and running and doing some very cool stuff.
    In 1992 we discovered the magic of the internet. (I'm here to tell ya, the internet was more like a dirt road than an information highway back then.) A whole new learning process began. If I had a dollar for every time I threatened to throw the computer, keyboard and all out the window I'd have more money than Bill Gates!
    Over time we became reasonably proficient Mac users. So much so that our friends began to refer to us as Mac Heads. Over time we upgraded to a pair of Power Macs and were thrilled with all the capabilities the new systems had. We refused to believe they would soon become obsolete and continued using them until we finally realized our computers were the equivalent of a Windows 98 system. It was time to upgrade once again.
    I was confident all would be well. After all. How different could the NEW Mac O/S be from the old? Well . . . . was I ever in for a case of culture shock! Chey soon decided it was time for her to buy a Windows PC and she did. We embarked on dual learning curves. Once again, we suffered through countless hours of frustrating experimentation and many conversations with tech support.
    Over time we once again became semi-proficient with some software applications, but the love/hate relationship continues even today! For instance. I STILL haven't figured out how to change the background for my blog.
   

What Your Hands Say About You

You are logical, analytical, and rational. You have good verbal skills. Idealistic and dreamy, you tend toward the impractical. You have a knack for getting yourself in sticky situations. Brainy and intelligent, you are intellectual to the point of being incomprehensible. Your emotions tend to be nervous and potent. Your energy - both positive and negative - deeply impacts your life.

    I began my day as I often do, surfing the Stream, reading posts as I view the world through the eyes of my friends. While at my friend, Pretty Rubbles blog, I found a couple've fascinating posts regarding the power of music. And it unleashed a potful of memories, mostly good ones that to this day still bring me a smile.
    There's a special kind of magic in music. Music's the thread that stitches together magnificent tapestries made from memories long since gone by. There's music playing when I'm working, music playing when I sit at my computer writing and music in my head always. And with it, come memories of all sizes, types and flavors. Here's one of those weird and wacky recollections.
    First, I should probably apologize to any of you who enjoyed listening to Freddy Fender's music back in the 1970's. I never was terribly fond of his music, but I tolerated it as best I could. Late one night after a long day of working in the shop, my old friend Cal and I stopped off at Joyce's Diner for a hamburger and some much-needed coffee. We slid into a booth, gave the waitress our food order and sat drinking coffee as we argued good-naturedly about which was better, owning a Ford or a Chevrolet truck. All of a sudden Cal's eyes widened, he scowled and growled something unintelligable.
    "What the hell's bugg'n you?" I asked.
    He peered at me in disbelief. "You don't hear that?"
    "Here what?" I knew EXACTLY what, but it was too much fun agitating him to resist.
    "Some asshole's playing god damn Freddy Fender songs on the flame'n juke box."
     I grinned. "Huh! I didn't notice."
    "How the hell could you NOT notice. That shit's drive'n me nuts."
    "Calm down and take a valium. It ain't so bad once you get used to it."
    "Yea right, asshole! Like you don't wanna go bust the juke box yourself." Cal was becoming even more agitated, much to my delight.
    "Here's the thing. I'm just a mellow country boy." I hesitated just to elevate the effect of what I was saying. "You, on the other hand, are an emotional basket case. Jeez! You're gonna have a god damn subdural hematoma if you don't calm the hell down."
    About that time the thoroughly enebriated customer who'd played the Fender music before slipped a dollar's worth of quarters in the machine and yes, you guessed it, played MORE Freddy Fender tunes.
    Cal was apoplectic. As he sat sputtering and muttering, the waitress approached with our plates of food. She set them down in front of us, smiled and looking directly at Cal, asked if there was anything else she could do for us. Without hesitation, Cal responded. "Yes! Turn off that INFERNAL shit on the juke box."
    The waitress smiled demurely. "I'm sorry. I can't. That gentleman over there just played some music and I'm sure he wouldn't be very happy if he couldn't here the songs he payed for."
    "The hell you say!" Cal growled as he took a big bite out of his hamburger.
    I couldn't resist continuing to agitate. "Huh. I guess she told you."
    It was more than Cal could stand. He dropped his hamburger on the plate, jumped to his feet, marched across the room and promptly tipped over the juke box. There was a loud scratching noise as the records inside scattered and then the music stopped. Not satisfied, Cal reached in his pocket, pulled out his Buck Knife and proceeded to cut the plug off the end of the power cord. He stood there with a big grin as he surveyed the destruction, turned around and returned to the booth. "There!" He said, with a tone of finality in his voice. "That oughta fix it!"
    All the time I couldn't help remembering that old country song titled "Bubba Shot The Juke Box." And yes, the sherriff did arrive a few minutes later.