SNYDERMANIA: Mar 13, 2012

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

THE CHANDLER, ARIZONA CENTENNIAL WHISKERINO CONTEST AND THE EIGHT-FINGERED CRIMINAL'S SON

The Sun Lakes Pest Control Whiskerino team poses for a photo on day 28 of the 100 day Chandler, Arizona Centennial competition. Dickey and Bobby are pretty good beard growers. I told Dickey and Bobby with beards like theirs they ought to be coming down from a mountain dragging stone tablets. I guess all I can do is keep not shaving and see how things pan out.

Here we are on day one of the competition.

BOOK NEWS: While I had hoped the print version would be available for Christmas, we are still patiently working through the process. I guess the book will be ready for Christmas - 2012. Hopefully, we're be up and running somewhat earlier.
In the mean time the e-book is available at Amazon for a measly 5 bucks. Just lick on the link below.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top

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NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?