Bloggers Can Help the Suffering People in Haiti

Go to Blogger Buzz. Put a 'Support The Haiti Disaster Relief Effort' widget on your blog, as I have done in my sidebar.

http://buzz.blogger.com/2010/01/support-haiti-disaster-relief.html

A Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son

A story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“The Laughing Monks (1998)"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2006 William Snyder

The Laughing Monks
(Scottsdale, Arizona – 1998)

DART SAFETY AND THE PURPLE BIKINI WILL BE AVAILABLE IN A BOOK STORE IN THAILAND THIS NOVEMBER.
Check current postings to learn how to purchase a copy.

SnYder CoMic #2

2010 SnYder CoMic # 2




Peter Mayhew, the actor who played Chewbacca in Star Wars, was also an exceptional professional baseball player.
As a matter of fact, Peter was named Wookie of the Year.









There you have, SnYder CoMic #2.

While I sincerely doubt the newspapers will be beating down my door, I'm relatively confident that I topped SnYder CoMic #1. I thought about wowing you all with something really spectacular, but I realized that would until coming up with a spectacular comic. I did come up the pun. I'm not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Moshing with Skeletal Secrets and a Couple of Cactus Shots

Hanging with Skeletal Secrets


A couple of weeks ago I took advantage of an opportunity to attend a Skeletal Secrets Concert. Above, I can be seen standing with former student band members Gabe and Nick. I'm the goofball in the middle. I still want to know what the hand signs mean.

Got to tell you, I'm not so old that I can't enjoy a little heavy metal music. As a matter of fact, I happen to know there are countless subcategories of metal music. You've got you basic death metal, speed metal and black metal. Skeletal Secrets is known across the greater Phoenix area as an operetic metal band. The lead singer, Chelsie, a current student of mine and a talented opera singer, handles the lead vocals.

I didn't realize they still had mosh pits. Obviously, I'm a little old for mosh pits. On the other hand, it's like Leroy Satchel Paige said, "When it comes to age, it's all mind over matter; it you don't mind, it don't matter."

It's been a little over two weeks and I almost have full range of motion back in my neck and I'm hardly limping at all, thank you.


Justice League Cactus Shots and a Window


These sans banana, cactus shots were taken on the last Arizona Justice League of Photographers adventure along the road between Canyon Lake and Tortilla Flat.

Something about the protrtuding nails intrigued me. I couldn't help wondering who drobve the nails into that saguaro. Why? When? Mysteries are good thing.

Here's a window shot taken in Tortilla Flat. All me to point out that it wasn't easy keeping that camera hogging giant banana out of these pictures.

SnYder CoMics

Watch for the newest SnYder CoMic this Sunday. Remember, I didn't want to set the bar to high with the first comic. I'm ready to get serious about the second panel. You people had better look out because I feel something big coming .

Wait, maybe it's gas...

SNYDER COMICS #1

I'm one of those new year's resolution guys. I actually spent hours cranking out a list of resolutions for the new year. One of my resolutions involves drawing a weekly comic.

It may not be much, but at least I'm covered for week one.




Happy New Year!

The Arizona Justice League of Photographers and the Banana go to Canyon Lake and Tortilla Flats

The amazing photographs on this posting are available for your viewing pleasure thanks to blogger, Kavita of India...

Armed with a tank full of gas and a few cameras and a fresh banana, the Arizona Justice League of Photographers headed East of metropolitan Phoenix to do their thing at Canyon Lake and Tortilla Flats.

Clif the Lawyer barely eludes a giant banana. You're reading the sign right - it does say 14 feet, 3 inches.

Clif the Lawyer gets up close and personal with a giant banana.

Former New Christy Minstrels singer, Eric the Photographer has no idea of what looms behind.

Too late...

When a banana's got to go, a banana's got to go.

The giant bananas are absolutely ubiquitous.

Clif the Lawyer, Eric the Photographer and Rick the IT guy exchange banter in the presense of the giant banana.

The banana shares a few stories and jokes with Clif and Eric.

Christmas 2009

It’s over?

I’m a lucky schlep. Family, kids, Christmas tree, fire in the hearth; it was all there.

I did a lot of wrapping. My wife scratched the records.

Bah dump bump…

Actually I spent about ten hours wrapping presents.

Speaking of rapping, I like to tell my students I was the best rapper in my old neighborhood in back in L.A. This was a time when guys like Ice Tea and Snoop Dog were just coming up. But I was the best of them all. Everybody knew I was the best because all of the mothers in the neighborhood brought their gifts to me. I was known for my tight bows and sick use of ribbons.

Bah dump bump…

I’m in the habit of making note of the quirky aspects of life. You want quirky? How does three and a half hours in a Target store sound? Yeah, I spent three and a half hours in a Target store.

It all began with fellow blogger, Kavita in India. She left a comment on my last blog pointing out that I could take my camera card to a photo shop and have the pictures transferred over to a disk. I’d been trying to figure out how to get the photos on my camera for a couple of weeks.

So I told my wife I was heading over to the photo department at Target. My wife came along to “pick up a few things.” Thanks to Kavita I had my pictures on the disk in 30 minutes.

However, my wife was just getting started; she was in the zone, casually browsing the aisles, stopping for discourse with a dozen or so friends and acquaintances. After two hours I had a seat at the food section and stared at my watch. I wondered if we’d hit two and half hours? No way would we make it to three hours I was excited, in a quirky kind of way, when my wife checked out at the three hour and 31 minute mark.

You don’t see that kind of thing every day.

Three and a half hours in Target, that’s pretty quirky.

Happy Holidays

The Justice League photos are coming.

The Arizona Justice League of Photographers, Canyon Lake

Question: How many teachers does it take to transfer 100 photos from a digital camera to a computer?

Answer: More than the number living in my house.

The Justice League of Photographers recently explored Canyon Lake and Tortilla Flats. I took close to 100 photos. Thanks to modern technology I can show you exactly one. Why just one photo? If I could answer the question, I could probably download the photos now couldn’t I?

I returned from the photo shoot raring to upload the photos. As you probably know, uploading is a simple process that entails connecting the camera to the computer with, catch this, a USB cord and clicking on the right places on the computer screen. That’s right; I know what a USB cord is. I clicked on the screen but nothing happened. Three hours of screwing around with the computer yielded me no pictures.

I decided to seek out the expertise of my coworkers. The next door teacher is a camera/computer aficionado; he immediately ascertained that my USB cord is a piece of junk. Using his top of the line USB cord, he expeditiously transferred the pictures to the, get this, K drive on my work computer. That’s right folks; I know what a k drive is Now that the pictures were on my k drive, all I had to do was email the folder to my home computer. Long story short - I get it; it’s a little late for a long story short - the email wouldn’t accept the whole file and I was only able to send one picture, one banana picture.

The next day I sought out a different camera/computer specialist. He told me I needed to buy a little ten dollar box. This box would hold my camera card and transfer pictures much more easily. Finally, a simple answer. I mean, what could be simpler than a ten dollar box?

On the way home I stopped at Radio Shack. I showed my camera to the 16 year-old clerk.

“I need the little ten dollar box for the picture card.”

OK, my description was far from eloquent but she seemed to know what I meant. Rolling her eyes, she snatched a package with the little box and rang me up.

“21.50.”

“I though these little boxes were ten bucks.”

“21.50.” she said coldly.

“Are you sure this little box will work on my computer?” I asked handing her my debit card.

“Just follow the directions.” she said handing me my receipt and box.

I thought about telling her that if her Radio Shack gig ever went south there was a Subway down the street where she’d fit right in.

I know this is hard to believe, but even with box, I was not able to successfully transfer the pictures from the camera to the computer. Although the kid wasn’t very happy to see me again, she took the box back and credited my card with the 21.50.

And so I have this Banana picture.

Steve McQueen, Research Papers and Ten Bucks

My mind has been turned to muck. This is the direct result of grading 100 four to six page research papers over the last ten days. I’m telling you I can’t take it any more. Come to think of it, I don’t have to take it any more – until next year.

Grading these papers has actually made me stupider. I know what you’re thinking; is stupider a word? Doesn’t the use of stupider, at the very least, reflect indicate bad grammar? Didn’t I just get done telling you that grading them research papers made me stupider than I was before?

Allow me to share a few examples of antiknowledge that lingers in the recesses of my brain as a result of reading these research papers:

The Woodstock Festival was held to protest the War of 1812.

The Vietnam War was fought between the United States and Korea.

Adolph Hitler and the Nazis were communists.

George Washington owned a Coca Cola bottling plant.

There were a few good papers but the truth is I put heckuva a lot more work into grading than my students put into writing the papers. The lack of effort was no surprise. This is the fourth year I’ve been assigning research papers to high school juniors. I used the word assigning because I sure as heck don’t appear to be teaching them anything.

A couple of years ago a student turned in a paper on thr influence of Elvis Presley on American culture. He wrote that Elvis was so angry over his daughter’s marriage to Michael Jackson that he refused to speak to her for two years. For the benefit of those who don’t follow American pop culture, the king of rock and roll died at least a decade before Lisa Marie’s marriage to Michael Jackson.

This year’s assignment called for the class to compare a post 1900 American movement to a pre 1900 American movement. Five students didn’t even respond to the prompt. Three students wrote papers advocating the legalization of marijuana, citing highly respected academic sources such as smokeit.com, hightimes.com, and 420.com.

I’ve got to ask, were the authors of the three smokeit.com papers high when I gave the assignment???

Did I mention that the papers were really bad? The average score is in the low 60s. Man, last night I had a dream about grading bad research papers.

I gave the unit by best shot. I’ll try some new approaches next year.

I'm guessing Steve McQueen never graded a research paper in his life. He was too busy driving fast cars, running around with hot chicks and beening the king of cool.

It's not like the only thing going on in my life has been bad research papers and antiknowledge. For example I found ten bucks in the street last week.

Hey, Buzz!

I'm beFrank and I approve this blog!



Bill (we call him, Buzz) was having some formatting trouble with his blog, so he gave me access to try and fix the problem.

I think things are back to relatively normal (an entirely over-rated concept, if you ask me) and I hope there is an increase in hits because I'm sort of guest posting.

Steve McQueen, Subway and Si Senor Restaurant

Adventures at Subway

I recently stopped in at a local Subway sandwich shop for lunch. I've been a Subway fan for years. Where else can a guy get a tasty halfway healthy lunch for three bucks? Nowhere, that's where. The shop was empty. A somber middle aged woman was beyond the counter to not greet me.

"Hello." I said.

She said absolutely nothing. As a matter of fact, she pretty much gave me the stink eye. I could have walked out - but I was hungry.

I ordered a meatball sandwich on Italian herbs and cheese bread.

She opened her mouth to ask, "Toasted?"

"Please." I responded.

Removing the sandwich from the oven, she complied with my request to add lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, banana peppers, jalapenos, Chipolte Southwest sauce and light Parmesan cheese.

"Meal deal?" she asked, looking at me as if I had a swastica carved into my forehead.

"Just the sandwich."

"Two thirty-nine." she said.

I handed her three dollars and she dropped the change into my hand.

Another customer appeared behind me.

"Can I help you?" she said looking right through me.

I didn't get a can I help you.

"Hold on a minute." I said.

The woman looked at me, stink eye on maximum.

"Who owns this place?" I asked.

"I do."

"And you don't see fit to say thank you when a customer frequents your place?"

Nothing but major leaue stink eye.

"I tell you what, I'm never coming back here."

She smailed and said,"Thank you."

Is it just me?


Si Senor Restaurant

Si Senor is a quaint little Mexican joint in Chandler, Arizona where people never give anyone the stink eye. My wife, daughter and nephew work at this bastion of New Mexico style gastronomic ecstasy. My three yougest girls and I eat there every week.

The owner says it’s the habañero chili peppers that make the food so exceptional. An interesting side effect of the super chilis is beads of sweat cascading down my temples. With women, their noses seem to run. It's quirky cool to watch men dabbing their napkins to their brows and woman daintily wiping their noses with expressions of pure, brainless culinary bliss.

Meals come with chips and four salsas, the best of which, and the hottest, is the white. I’m due for a heavenly stuffed shredded beef sopapilla – in about an hour.

It’s good to have some thing to look forward to, something spectacular.

And no stink eyes.

John Prine

The guy in the picture is John Prine. There's a good chance you've never heard of him. He is arguably the greatest singer, songwriter, guitar picker never to make it into the mainstream. His lyrics are so incredibly true.

Here is a particularly captivating verse from Souvenirs, a song he co wrote with Steve Goodman.

All the snow has turned to water
Christmas days have come and gone
Broken toys and faded colors
Are all that's left to linger on
I hate graveyards and old pawn shops
For they always bring me tears
I can't forgive the way they rob me
Of my childhood souvenirs

By the way, Souvenirs is John Prine's mother's favorite song.

Click on this link if you'd like to see John Prine perform Souvenirs.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DYQe454YVs

Here is the chorus from Sam Stone, a haunting song about a drug addicted Vietnam vet.

There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don't stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.

Johnny Cash covered Sam Stone.

Click on this link if you'd like to see Sam Stone performed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEa4qi6cYOQ&feature=related

The ticket you see above is mine. There's a story that goes along with this ticket. Friday afternoon one of the secretary's sent out an email offering six free John Prine tickets for the Friday night show. I raced to the secretary's desk and picked up one of the tickets. The business of seeing John Prine perform wasn't going to be easy. You see I was obligated to accompany a group of students to an academic competition across town. You never know with these competitions; they can end as early as seven o'clock or go on until eleven. The show started at eight but there was a warm up band. It was a proverbial crap shoot. The bus returned to our home school at 9:30. There was still a chance I could see John Prine sing. It would be worth the 45 minute drive to downtown Phoenix just to see him play one song.

As drove toward Phoenix I began to reevaluate the situation. I was pretty darned tired. And I had to get up at 5:30. Since there had been a warm up band, John Prine must have begun his performance at nine at the latest. It was ten o'clock . "The guy's got to be seventy." I thought. "A seventy year-old isn't going to play much longer than an hour." And I was pretty darned tired. I understood I would regret turning around and going home more than I would have regretted losing a little sleep as I pulled off the freeway and headed home.


And so I have this ticket.

Last night I came home, cracked a beer and watched a few John Prine songs on Youtube. It was nice. It had been a good day. I enjoyed being with my students at the competition. It's good to have a job from which I can drive home every day knowing I at least tried to do something good.

I was walking down the road, man
Just looking at my shoes
When God sent me an angel
Just to chase away my blues
Now everything is cool
Everything's okay
Everything is cool
Everything's okay

- Everything is Cool by Jon Prine



Steve McQueen did not see the John Prine show Friday night.

"A Potent Memory (1993)"

A Short Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“A Potent Memory (1993)"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2006 William Snyder

A Potent Memory
East Valley Accommodation School
1993

Steve McQueen, a Pogo Stick and Washington Irving

Pogo Sticks

My daughters complained that they were bored. Being the genius that I am, I offered five bucks to the first girl to reach 100 pogo stick hops - in the back hard. They raced into the back yard and I paused to marvel at my brilliance before getting back to my coffee and morning paper.

Five minutes later they were back in the house wanting to renegotiate. I guess feeling like a genius for five minutes is better than never feeling like a genius at all.

The Devil and Tom Walker

My students recently read Washington Irving's The Devil and Tom Walker. It's one of my favorite short stories and I'm amazed at how the 150 year-old chronicle has maintained its relevance. Irving uses the story to absolutely shred slave traders, hypocritical Christians and money lenders. I don't run into many slave traders, these days but there doesn't seem to be any shortage of hypocritical Christians or unscrupulous bankers.

The Devil and Tom Walker is one of the funniest stories I've come across. Most of the humor was too subtle for my high school students to pick up. They did get a kick out of the situation when Irving explained that Tom Walker had no fear of the devil after putting up with a woman like Mrs. Walker.

As with the stories of Faust, Daniel Webster, Robert Johnson and Charlie Daniels' fiddle player, The Devil and Tom Walker centers on the devil's offer to make Tom Walker a rich man in exchange for his soul. He also asks Tom to be a usurer, that is a money lender, one of his own "peculiar people." The devil suggests that Tom charge two percent interest a month, that is 24 percent a year. Modern American banks rouinely charge their cusomers 24 percent or more today, don't they? As Tom Walker grows old he tries to cheat the devil by attending church, singing and praying louder than the rest and pointing out all of the townsfolk who break the rules of the church, all the while destroying lives, cashing in on his customers' misfortunes during the week. Of course, in the end, the devil takes Tom into the bowels of the earth where the hypocritical money lender will burn for all eternity.

In a day and age when Bankers seem to get away with such unspeakable behavior, Irving's classic tale is - comforting.

The Coolest Cat in History

You may be wondering why I included a photo of Steve McQueen from the set of The Magnificent Seven.

No reason.

The Arizona Justice League of Photographers Rides - the Train III

Thought I'd post a few photographs from the most recent Justice League photography shoot.

These pictures were taken by Eric the Photographer. As the handle implies, he actually takes pictures for a living. Eric is our Yoda, our Mr. Miagi, our Seargent Carter...

Got to tell you, I'm really digging this reflection image. From left to right, that's yours truly,Clif the Lawyer, Mario the Chef, and Eric the Photographer.

The streets of Phoenix were absolutely deserted.

Look, here's a shot of me talking on a cell phone next to a phone booth. Bet you don't see that everyday.

Then again, maybe you do. It could be that there's an old phone booth in front of your office and every stinking day some joker stands next to the booth, talking on his cell phone while shouting, "Hey look at me. I'm standing next to a phone booth talking on a cell phone. Bet you don't see that every day."

Here's the historic Luhrs Tower. Built in 1929, this building served as the backdrop for a scene in Hitcock's Psycho as Janet Leigh crossed the street with the bank deposit she was supposed to make for her boss.

These guys were singing:

I come from the land down under

Where beer does flow and men chunder

Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?

You better run you better take cover.

Weird, huh?

It's all about the clouds.

Here's Mario the Chef yucking it up with Marge and Hank at The Coney Island Grill.

The Arizona Justice League of Photographers shoot it out in downtown Phoenix.

Absolutely nothing happened to any of us while were standing in front of this building.