Shocking

What’s a daddy to do?
When Theodore Moody of Wild Peach couldn’t belt whup his 8-year-old son into minding, he used a stun gun on the boy.
State and county officials have expressed outrage.
“I just can’t fathom people doing something like this to their own children,” Sheriff’s Capt. Jeff Adkins told the Houston daily.
District Attorney Jeri Yenne called it “psychological abuse.”
The use of a stun gun on inmates in the county jail some years back didn’t elicit the same reaction, but, what the hell, they were from out of state.

Birding News

Brazosport's reputation as a tourism hotspot got a humongous shot in the arm today.
The Gulf Coast Bird Observatory announced it will be open on Saturdays from Oct. 5 through Nov. 23, from 8:30 in the a.m. until 4:30 in the p.m.
Officials cited "public demand" for the move.
Rumors that officials with the Family Fitness workout facility on FM 2004 are incensed that the extended observatory hours will cut into their business could not be confirmed by press time.
Cecilia Riley, executive director of the Bird Observatory, had this to say:
“Autumn can be an excellent time to bird watch in coastal Texas. We often find late migrants and early wintering birds at our sanctuary. And of course we all look forward to cooler weather and fewer mosquitoes!”
Ms. Riley recommends that GCBO visitors prepare themselves with good hiking footwear, appropriate insect control, comfortable clothing and a No. 2 lead pencil for jotting down any humorous thoughts that might occur while bird watching.
Should lifeless blue jays or crows be found on the observatory grounds, visitors are asked to turn them over to the nearest uniformed officer.
GCBO is located off Highway 288 south of Houston, on Highway 332 West, near the Brazos Mall, where virtually all your shopping needs can be satisfied by friendly, efficient salespersons. For more information about GCBO, call 979-480-0999, or visit the website.

Our Mosquito Coast

The mosquitoes are so thick you can't go outside without letting a few indoors. This, you discover, after the lights are out, you've washed your face, brushed your teeth, put on your PJs, and settled under the covers.

BZZZZZzzzz.

Right in the ear. You can swat the air or clap your hands together or get completely under the sheets, but he's indoors.

Dang!

The talk around town is what can the average red-blooded Brazosportian do?

A lot, it turns out.

Here are some ideas:

Purchase some Bounce Fabric Softener Sheets. Wipe them all over your exposed body. Better yet, have a close personal friend do it for you.
Role play, if it helps. This has been field-tested in Louisiana. No, not the role playing, just wiping the sheets on your skin. It's great for babies, they say.

A fisherman we heard about takes one vitamin B-1 tablet a day
April through October. This guy says it works.
The odor the tablet gives out through your skin
(which YOU cannot smell) repels mosquitos, black flies,
and gnat, says the angler, who claims not to have had a mosquito bite in 33 years. (Hmmmm)
Sadly, it does not work on stinging
insects or psychotic ex-wives. Suggested dosage: 100 mg.

The Port of Freeport may not like this, since they import so many of them, but stop eating banannas.
The consumption of banannas seems to make
the mosquitos plunge their stingers into your skin and suck out your blood. This is what we want to avoid. It has something to do with the banana oil
as your body processes it, according to this theory. If you're really into banannas, gorge on them during the winter months, but just say no after the snow melts.

Vick's Vaporub. Yep. Rub it on. Grease up real good. The bloodsuckers will look for more inviting victims. (Again, reference "close personal friend" advice in first home remedy)


Plunge your hands into the rich dark earth and plant marigolds around the yard.
The smell of marigolds is a turnoff to mosquitoes, as well as other members of the insect world. Plus, they're more aesthetically pleasing than, say, crabgrass, thistles, etc.


Some campers say the best repellant is
Avon Skin-So-Soft bath oil mixed about
half and half with alcohol. Do this BEFORE you pitch the tent, gather firewood, apply camoflouge face paint, and load firearms.

Or try this:
20 drops Eucalyptus oil
20 drops Cedarwood oil
10 drops Tea Tree oil
10 drops Geranium oil
2 oz. carrier oil ( such as Jojoba ) Mix together in a 4 oz. container.
Apply to skin as
needed, avoiding the eye area. Keep out of reach
of children and resist the urge to drink any of the mixture to find out if it produces a buzz. Test on a small area of skin for
sensitivities. Experiment with different percentages of essential oil.


Still another remedy is made from the clear real vanilla (not the grocery
store vanilla extract, which is mostly alcohol).
This is the
pure
vanilla that is sold in Mexico. It's cheap there if you
know of someone that lives there or close to the
border. If not, check the Yellow Pages of the Nuevo Laredo phonebook, look under "Coyotoes" and ask if they might be able to deliver some on their next trip north. If that doesn't work, health food stores usually carry it or can order
it for you. Use half vanilla and half water.

We haven't actually tried any of these methods, so don't blame us if you break out in a rash or become the object of scorn and ridicule for resorting to these measures. We hope they work, though. We hate mosquitoes.

Texans 19

Cowgirls 10

It was around the middle of the fourth quarter that I noticed a definite change in the sound effects over my right shoulder.
During the whole game, I didn’t want to turn around and make eye contact with the guy sitting behind me. I could heard him loud and clear. I didn’t need to look. He was a Cowboy fan, one of the millions who populate the land, probably not much different than all the other Cowboy fans I’ve come across over the years in every place I’ve ever lived.
Probably in a Troy Aikman jersey with some Deion Sanders wrist bands on for good measure. Maybe he had a Dallas star painted on his mug, but I didn’t want to look. I could hear him just fine.
But when I no longer heard him bellowing for his Boys, oh somewhere around the 8 minute mark in the last quarter, I went ahead and took a peek behind me. The chair was empty. He was gone.
I turned to the burly bearded guy seated to my right.
“Can you believe we’re ahead?” I asked.
He paused and thought a moment.
“No, I really can’t.”

Earlier in the week, I tried to prepare Scooter, my wife and assistant, for what was to come.
“We have three starters on the offensive line who aren’t going to play. I just hope it’s not a blowout.”
“So we’re not supposed to win?”
“No.”
In my Fantasy Football League, I picked Dallas as my defense. They’ll shut down the Texans’ offense. But maybe it’ll be a decent game.
The outcome demonstrates why it’s crazy to bet on the NFL. Anything can happen. And it did.


We were the first through the doors at the East Club entrance of Reliant Stadium yesterday.
We’re Number One! We’re Number One!
We got there at 4 o’clock, fearful of traffic jams, and walked in about 4:30.
Time to kill?
No problem.
You want sushi?
They’ve got sushi.
A piece of meat from Outback Steakhouse?
No problem.
California rolls?
Sure.
Imported beer?
Belly up.
David Carr bobblehead doll?
A must-have for the true fan.
The Club Level carpet has little outlines of the State of Texas and there are plenty of urinals for all.

Some players were warming up on the field a full two hours before kickoff.
A couple of the Cowboys were attached by what appeared to be a bungee cord-type device. One would run down the field, stretching the cord, while the other provided resistance.
Damn that Cowboy innovation!
Why don’t we have one of those?
But our eyes were drawn to someone else on the field. Cowboys Owner Jerry Jones, newly retooled with a facelift and what must be a rigorous workout regimen, was on the field, dressed in a dark suit. He looked awfully thin. He appeared to be talking into a small microphone at times. Dictating his memoirs?
He was followed everywhere by a photographer. These are, after all, moments to remember.
He walked across the field to greet Texans quarterback David Carr. Pictures were taken.
He confided with some his players. Click-click.
He schmoozed with a video crew, probably from NFL Films, who followed him around.
He walked along the edge of the field and shook hands with fans.
Never far away was his son Steven, a Cowboys executive, who followed his pop everywhere, because, after all, the owner of America’s Team may need a Gatorade at any moment.
What a guy.
“What a pinhead,” said the burly bearded guy seated beside me.

Signs in the crowd:
“The Cowboys Need A Facelift.”
“Mamas Don’t Let Your Texans Grow Up To Be Cowboys.”
“Thanks Bob.”

We can’t invoke the time-honored journalistic phrase “when the smoke cleared,” since the residue from the half-time fireworks never really did thanks to the closed stadium roof. But when the game was over thousands of happy people trooped out of Reliant Stadium chanting, waving their free Texans towels, deliriously happy, secure in the knowledge that their team had won “the Texas Super Bowl,” as Gov. Rick Perry dubbed it during pregame ceremonies.
Yet, amid the chorus, there was an offkey note.
“Two Thousand Thirty, first playoff game. Two thousand thirty, first playoff game.”
He was a Cowboy fan, a little drunk, telling all within earshot that Houston’s new team wouldn’t make the playoffs until the year 2030.
He was from Fort Worth, explained his brother, a Houston resident. He was upset, he said.
We don’t think he was the guy seated behind us, but we can’t be sure.

The Big Storm

Is everybody OK?

The power here at the Brazosport News was just restored. Hurray for electricity! Hurray for air conditioning!

Tropical Storm Fay blew down a lot of trees, knocked out power and dumped, by our measure, more than 7 inches of rain in a short amount of time. (We can’t be more precise with our precipitation measurement because the backyard rain gauge was full and overflowing by the time we got home around 10 p.m.)

In our neighborhood, a tree fell into a house and punctured a water line. The homeowner wasn’t there, but a friend who noticed water pouring out of the home cut off the water. Hurray for vigilant neighbors!

Other neighbors who have lived here longer than us say they never saw water so high in the streets.

We drove through the the height of the storm back from Houston in a blinding rain. We were going about 20 mph by the time we hit Angleton. The water was too high at the low end of our street to get home, so we parked in a neighbor’s driveway and sloshed into the front door. We watched another neighbor in his Cadillac plow through the bumper-high water and make it to his driveway.

Scooter, my wife and assistant, happened to notice the basketball goal at our across-the-street neighbor’s was about to be blown over into one of their vehicles. She called and warned him. He ventured out into the deluge and moved his car. Then, sometime later, a tree was uprooted and landed right where his car had been parked.

“I owe you a big thank-you,” he said the next morning.

We lent him our rinky dink chain saw this morning to chop up the tree, but when a post-storm entreprenuer with a chain saw about twice as big as ours happened by and offered to cut the fallen tree for $45, he opted for the hired hand.

Good call.

Hurray for chain saws!

After the power went out on Friday night, we turned on the police scanner to hear what we could learn.

“Boy, those cops earn their money at times like this,” I told Scooter.

Listening to the scanner traffic, we eavesdropped on a series of puzzling transmissions involving a Jack-in-the-Box restaurant that went on for something like 30 minutes.

There was a report of a broken window at Jack (we think the one in Clute).

One cop arrived and described the breakage.

“It’s about a foot long,” the officer said.

He drove on.

Then, minutes later, another cop showed up to investigate the report.

“It looks like it might have been caused by flying debris,” he said.

Where’s the key holder?

On his way.

It must have taken a long while for the keyholder to show because the cops kept talking about the broken window at Jack-in-the-Box for an inordinate amount of time.

We surmised the damage report that went out over the police radio kept getting answered by different officers who arrived at different times because no one seemed to be satisfied after the first investigation that the Jack-in-the-Box wasn’t in grave peril.

But maybe we’re wrong since relying on police scanner transmissions for accurate information can be tricky.

In Lake Jackson, Burger King and McDonald’s was closed due to the power outage, but Chick Fil-A and Whataburger were doing a land office business today.

Wal-Mart was open but Randall’s was closed.

Wal-Mart was kinda stuffy, though, cause talk among the clientele was that the store lost power about 11 p.m. last night, cutting off the air conditioning for a time, leading us to forego the purchase of anything that, well, might prove to have salmonella-like consequences later.

Anyway, we bought a Weber grill to cook some chicken that we figured was about to go bad in our electricity-less refrigerator.

After more than 7 years in Lake Jackson, I never had bought a barbecue grill. Yeah, yeah, that’s downright unAmerican, I know, but I have one now. Right about the time I finished the chicken grilling, the power came back on.

Hurray for power!

Angleton, we have a problemo

Not long ago, the elected leaders of Angleton said nay to two things: letting the bars stay open later and to praying.
Now it looks like they made the wrong decision on both counts.

Letting the bars stay open later would have led to increased city tax revenue, said the bar owners.
And praying, said the pro prayer faction, would have brought the town’s chosen leaders closer to the Man Upstairs.

Now Angleton needs both the extra revenue and prayer, lots of prayer, but can’t count on the bars or public pleas to the Almighty for either one.

The city’s going to have raise the tax rate about 5 cents.

“Past mismanagement,” the headline in the Clute daily said.
Things aren’t so hunky dory, the Angleton semi-daily reports, quoting a local.

“No one noticed” that several police grants had expired, the Clute daily reported, which provided the “hardest” budget hit.

“No one” takes in a lot of territory, like the whole city payroll.

But the Clute daily apparently didn’t want to besmirch the budget acumen of anyone by name, so it decided to place the blame on everyone.

Even the secretaries, the clerks, the janitors and the cops on the beat didn’t notice the expiration of the police grants!

Back during the bar closing controversy, some found it odd that some Council members who wanted to pray at the meetings also favored letting the bars stay open later.

Go figure that out, the critics said.

Seems like the pro-prayer officials are pushing demon rum, they sniffed.

But wouldn’t it be kinda nice now if the City Council could pray for something good to happen?

Maybe they could pray that a buyer for the Intermedics building suddenly appeared and opened up a big factory that put people to work and paid the city a big fat payment in-lieu of taxes.

Or, failing that, maybe now they wish they had a little of the extra tax money that demon rum would have provided.

Maybe it would have saved a job or two for some of the cops who are going to be laid off.

This Just In!

The Chronicle reported exclusively today that football is the favorite spectator sport of the nation's fourth largest city.
Next week's poll: Hamburgers remain the most popular fast food in the city, well ahead of hot dogs, but tacos are gaining ground, further reflecting the startling multicultural changes in Space City.

Call for backup

Uptown Saturday night in Manvel.
It’s just before 9 o’clock in the parking lot at the Shell station at Highway 6 and 288.
The parking lot is hopping.
Two kids are kicking the hacky sack back and forth. Three are guys chewing the fat over the bed of a pickup. People are gassing up their vehicles. Taco Bell is selling tacos, and there is cold beer and cigarettes for those with photo ID.
A Manvel P.D. cruiser prowls by, very slowly, back and forth through the parking lot, but no, nothing untoward is going down. The officer proceeds over to the side of the building, and waits in the back, in the shadows.
Does he know something? Has a confidential informant tipped him off?
Or, does he just have a hunch.
In Manvel?
Nah.
But, yes, there is a crime about to happen.
Then it happens.
An African American fellow whips his small compact car in off Highway 6 and parks – right in front of the handicapped parking sign. He hops out to go into the store. He has a lady friend in the passenger seat.
The Manvel P.D. is there in a flash. The officer pulls in right behind the scofflaw’s car. No way he can make a run for it, unless he decides to bail and hoof it down the highway.
The African American suspect, dressed in a FUBU jersey, with his hair in braids, speaks to the officer, who tells him, we presume, to turn around and look at the sign, if he wants to know what the problem might be.
He does.
FUBU spots the handicapped sign. He rolls his eyes and holds his palms out to side.
Busted!
Busted by The Man!
Call for backup.
Another Manvel P.D. cruiser is there in a jiffy.
The parking lot patrons stop to gawk.
Officer Number Two hops out armed.
Armed with a digital camera.
Photo evidence! Caught on video!
Go ahead, call Johnnie Cochran, because, your honor, we offer State’s Exhibit Number One.
Officer Number One writes FUBU man up.
Officer Number Two leaves with the evidence.
The crowd, reluctantly, goes back to their hacky sack kicking and gas pumping.
OK, folks, the show’s over. Go back to your homes, your businesses, your wives and children. There are tacos and cold beverages inside, if you’re of a mind, and remember, we don’t make the laws, we just enforce them.