Numbers, Wainers, and Boobies, Oh My!

At the risk of presenting myself as a total nut job, I going to talk about numbers and how we see them in our heads. As long been able to count (a good ten or twelve years now), a sequence of numbers has always had certain trail it follows in my head. I would guess that’s the way it is for everyone, but I’m curious how it is for other people. So after reading this, I hope you’ll play along and humor me with what you see in your head.

When I start counting from one, the numbers go upward (like north on a map), up to thirty. At thirty-one, they take a left turn and keep going in a straight line all the way to 100. At 101, they take a right turn, upward again, and travel in a line up to 130, just like they do from one to thirty, except over a level. Then at 131, they take another left until they get to 200. This repeats itself from there on. It looks like this:


The trail does the same thing, but in reverse, if I’m counting backwards. If someone says, or I read, a number, say 42, I picture it in the same “location” every time. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone’s age, a ranking, or if I’m calculating a 6% restaurant tip.

The question is why. Why do my numbers do a lefty at thirty-one? Maybe somebody studies this stuff. Before I wrote this post, I googled a few phrases but couldn’t find anything that relates to this. This all has nothing to do with anything, except perhaps, that this sort of thinking also brought my novel into the world.


By the way, my I drew those numbers with a contraption called “Bamboo” that my daughter, Katie, gave to me for my birthday. It’s about the size of an Ipad, and looks like a paper note pad but it uses a special paper and pen that create a digital image which you can text, email, or whatever. I used it to insert a drawing into my novel because my keyboard didn’t have the characters that I needed. I suppose it could be used to draw wainers and boobies, but I choose not to. Oh, what the hell.


So, let’s see yours. No, not your wainers and boobies. Tell me where the numbers go in your head. Do they start at one and spiral outward into infinity? Do they do a kind of cha-cha, going forward two, then right three? Or am I just the lone oddball that shouldn’t have let this notion escape my mind?


Poofy Wigs and Posts For the Sake of Posting.

Sleepy Hollow pic

I don’t often prance about in a poofy white wig and knickerbockers, but when I do, it’s on national television. Facebook, with its “memory” reminders, has cruelly brought to my attention that my fifteen minutes of fame expired four years ago. Season 1, Episode 11 of the Fox television show Sleepy Hollow was my vehicle to stardom. The series was set up as a showcase to catapult me into a career in the insurance industry. Worked perfectly. Those guys really know their stuff.

This was my one and only foray into acting. Hadn’t tried it before. Haven’t tried it since. Thought I’d retire while I’m batting a thousand. While living in the Wilmington, North Carolina area, I answered a call on a Facebook page called the Wilmington Casting Call, fooled them in to choosing me, did the job, and collected the envy-inducing sum of $109, plus free breakfast and lunch. All of those years of experience lounging around my house in a big, poofy wig finally paid off.

Despite their pressuring, I told them I wouldn’t do nudity. So they used a butt double – for my face. What appears to by my face in the photo above, is the makeup-enhanced ass of a ninety-two year old man. I’m thankful for the upgrade.

Sleepy Hollow was filmed in Wilmington, an east coast hotbed of film and television production at the time, thanks in part to favorable tax treatment for the film industry by the State of North Carolina. In 2014, a new law was put in place, drastically reducing the tax benefit of film production in the state, so Sleepy Hollow left town, relocating to Georgia.

When you’re a first-time author, and your novel isn’t quite out yet, you’re looking for things to talk about. Even though this blog post doesn’t pertain to my novel, JFK, or much of anything, the picture was just too funny to pass up. Thanks for reading.



Non Rom-Com

I like movies, especially in a theater. Polly, my lovely wife,  has never been much interested in going to the movies. When I can get her to go, she doesn’t like anything scary, stupid, or with an unhappy ending. So that means about the only films I see at a theater are romantic comedies.

A few, I’ve found enjoyable. Most, though, not so much. But I’ve seen enough of them now to be able to officially label a movie a chick-flick if any two of the following take place in the film:

1)  Two or more people break into song.
2)  The sister / best friend of the female lead is a Joan Cusak-like character.
3)  Someone cries within the first thirty minutes (not counting the husbands in  the audience).

With all of that said, I will go see such films with my wife because I enjoy her company, and like going to the movies. It’s also the only place I can find Goobers.

But I want to talk about a movie I saw on TV last night. Whenever, I get a free HBO / Cinemax weekend on DirecTV, I wade through the guide and usually record seven or eight movies. Some I watch, some I delete without watching. One that I watched last night, is “500 Days of Summer”. Came out in 2009, and I’d never heard of it, although I did recognize the lead actors (Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel). I won’t tell you what it was about, other than to say it was half romance and half comedy, but NOT a romantic comedy. Didn’t meet the criteria:

  1. No group singing. There was singing (Karaoke), but only one person at a time. And it was acceptable Karaoke, if there’s such a thing, because good songs were chosen, one of which is in my ITunes collection, “Here Comes Your Man” by the Pixies.
  2. No Joan Cusak (or more modern-day equivalent). Nothing against her at all. She’s made me chuckle plenty of times. I’m sure she’s a perfectly lovely person and competent actress. That character, however, is a bellwether.
  3. And no crying whatsoever.

Good movie, with a good soundtrack. Bitter-sweet. Zooey Deschanel alone, makes it worth watching, at least for a geezer like myself. More movies like this, please.