Hippie Hollow: Naked Beauty

By: Ronnie

Due to the gorgeous weather yesterday, Juliana and I decided to take a little trip to Lake Travis just outside of Austin. I Googled some parks and read some reviews to map out our plan of attack. Windy Point Park and Mcgregor Park (aka Hippie Hollow) were located within a few minutes of each other. It was only logical that we made these our destinations. The reviews for Hippie Hollow warned that it was not actually a beach but a series of rock outcroppings (see pics below). The reviews also warned that nude swimming was allowed, the only such park in the state of Texas. Big deal, I thought. So, some people do a little skinny dipping. No problem, right?

The travel time was 15 minutes from our apartment, and what a beautiful drive it was. The Texas hill country is spectacular. The rolling hills, trees, and beautiful homes perched on shear cliffs made focusing on the road a real challenge, much to Juliana's disdain. "These brakes are so touchy," was my common excuse. I'm pretty sure Julie saw through this. We finally crested a hill (felt like a mountain) overlooking Lake Travis. It took everything Julie's Honda Civic Hybrid, Ladybird, had to climb it. The view was amazing. The brakes seemed to really be on the fritz after that point.

The Condition

By: Ronnie

I dated this dame once. Yeah, she was a dame. I don't know how else to describe her. She liked to wiggle her ass when she walked. Always made it a point to walk a few steps ahead of you just so she'd know you were looking. I indulged. That's about all she was good for. She had the looks but that's it. She had a condition. Something about the frontal lobe of some cortex below the cerebellum of the medulla whatcha-ma-call-it froze up or overreacted or chemically diffused. Something like that. Real scientific stuff. It was sad. Poor dame would shake it until the sun went down, sip a coca-cola, and proceed to carry on the most unintelligent, uninteresting conversation conceived by man.

Mary, that was her name. Or maybe it was Katherine. It doesn't really matter. We'd go to the movies or sit on the couch at her house and watch television. That's all she would talk about, too. "Oh my god! I loved Joe Blow in that movie!" she'd say. "Did you watch the episode of Who Gives a Rat's Ass last night?" she'd continue. And on and on it would go. Real brutal shit if you asked me. The only thing worse than watching TV on her couch and listening to her babble was listening to her drunk dad talk about his high school football days. That shit really bothers me.

When I could endure no more I would make some excuse about it getting late or walking the dog or one of the other infinite number of lies I used to get out the front door. I don't know why I did it, date her. I guess it was the way she wiggled her ass or how she let me rub her leg while we watched TV, even when she had on a skirt. She really was a good looking dame. Way too good looking for the likes of me. She was just so unbearable. The condition and all, I suppose. She never actually mentioned it to me. I'm sure she had one, though. I'd be almost positive. It really doesn't matter anyway, does it?

Oh Sarah, the things you do to me...

By: Juliana

A couple of days ago a story broke that Sarah Palin admitted she and her family had….GASP….crossed the border into Canada to take advantage of their single-payer health care system. NO! It couldn’t be! Outrage! HYPOCRITE! LIAR!! These were just a few (censored) things that came to my mind. I first read the story when it broke on the Huffington Post, not exactly the cream of the crop when it comes to news sources, but I have always found their stories for the most part to be factual, biased perhaps, but accurate nonetheless. The story literally broke about 30 minutes after the Palin confession. There is always a race to be first. Forget about the facts and let’s leave out the “inconsequential” details. Break the story, damnit!

ERRRRRRR!! Hold on. STOP! Let’s look at the whole story. Where we’re going, we don’t need roads. If you look at the full text of the speech Palin gave, you will see she was talking about in the 1960’s when her brother once burned his foot and they crossed the border to get treatment. Back in the 60’s, Canada did not, I repeat, did NOT have a single payer health care system. The Canadian Medical Care Act was not passed until 1967, and this act only allowed for government to pay for approximately 50% of approved expenditures for hospital and physician services. So in reality, the Palin clan was not fully taking advantage of the Canadian government when they hopped the border. They were not participating in a full on “socialized medicine” system. Thank goodness. Heaven forbid they be subject to one of those death panels I’ve been hearing about! That liberal rag got it wrong! Ha!

Move over, Boomers!

By: Juliana

So when I said that I wanted to start sharing my opinions, I didn’t realize it was going to be so hard! I have spent the last few days trying to come up with a topic for my next post, and it has been about as fun as getting a tooth pulled. I realize that I am thinking way too much into it. We’re just writing a blog, not curing cancer here. But I do want my posts to be interesting, so I hope what I continue on to say doesn’t induce you into a coma.

A couple of days ago, I read an article in the Courier Journal (the Louisville newspaper) titled “Gen-Ex?”. Under the headline was a picture of Jay Leno and one of Conan O’Brien, with the “Ex?” being conveniently placed over O’Brien’s head. My first thought was, why is this still making front-page news? Anyways, I can’t resist anything having to do with O’Brien’s massive pompadour, so I read. The article went on to discuss a clash between generations. In the first corner we have the reigning champion generation, the Baby Boomers. On the challenger’s side is, well…everyone else: Generation X, Generation Y, and whatever the hell is after us. The article explains how Boomer Leno ultimately defeated Gen X’er O’Brien and how the Boomers in Congress are currently overshadowing our first Gen X President. This article sparked something in me, not because I disagreed with it, but because it hit on a sentiment that I have been feeling for some time. Unless the Baby Boomers rid themselves of their sense of entitlement, nothing is going to change in our country until they are gone. I feel like I should have tried to put that sentence in terms that didn’t sound so, oh, I don’t know, harsh? But, no. I voted against doing so because the whole generation’s narcissism is putting everyone else in a life and death situation.

Thank You For Calling

A short by: Ronnie

Beeeeeeeep.

“Thank you for calling Prodigus, my name is Mike. In order to better assist you, may I please have the member’s ID number?”

5 seconds.

“Oh give me just a second. I just plugged that number into your silly computer phone system.”

“Sorry about that ma’am. The part of my computer that makes that information automatically pop up isn’t working right now.” Maybe if they got me out of this damn training room half the apps I need to do this job would work properly.

35 seconds.

“If you ask me, that computer is just too confusing. It took me twenty minutes just to get through that computer woman and get you to answer the phone.”

50 seconds.

“I apologize for that ma’am. I know that the automatic system can sometimes be difficult to get through. It’s actually designed to make things faster.” In reality, Mike had no clue. He’s never actually had to call his employer, nor would he ever. He has to feed them what they want to hear. How else is he supposed to get them off the phone in less than 420 seconds?

Allow myself...to introduce myself...

By: Juliana

No longer able to contain her thoughts, she speaks. The Ideal Reader will no longer contain a single voice, but two. From the start, this blog was something that Ronnie had always wanted us to do together, but I was reluctant. For a long time I have had things I wanted to say, but never had the “cojones” (figuratively and literally), to do so.

So, who am I, you may ask. Well for those who read and don’t know, I am Ronnie’s fiancé. The ying to his yang, the dose of reality to his fanatic dream (and vice-versa). My name is Juliana Wright, and I have some disappointing news. I cannot offer the fun, original, raw writings that Ronnie has given you so far. But I can tell you this. I can offer you an opinion, one like you may have not heard, that will be in unique layman’s terms. I promise for it not to be ignorant, but well informed and hopefully somewhat humorous. I chose to start writing on this blog for several reasons. Most importantly, I have a passion for so many things (politics, music, movies, etc.), but I can’t stand reading self-centered blogs about each subject.

I AM NOT A KNOW IT ALL and never will I be. But I try to stay well informed and like to think I can be somewhat witty. I often find I am looking for something that I would say myself. So I am going to start sharing some opinions. I feel that with Ronnie’s short stories, parsed with some little snippets about my version of what’s going on in the world, we can create something that is ideal for reading. I hope that you will enjoy! More substantive posts to come…

Peach Brandy: A Jack Baylor Adventure

A short by: Ronnie

I pulled on my snow boots, tucking them into the legs of my blue coveralls. Papa bought them for me, used, from an Army supply store. I’m not sure why he didn’t buy me camouflage or at least ones with a little more insulation. I never complained. The basement floor was freezing my ass despite the added layer of clothing. I slipped on my bright orange toboggan, tightened the Velcro around my gloves and slid my six-shooter cap gun, minus the caps, inside my belt. I tested my waterproof flashlight to ensure ample battery power and made my way out the door.

Old Blue was purring just outside our house, a modest home with off-white siding and brown shutters. My father built our house with his bare hands, often alone. Papa sat waiting in the driver’s seat chewing gum and smoking a Virginia Slim. Cindy and Sam were in the cage strapped in the bed of the pickup truck restless with anticipation. Steam billowed from their noses in the cool of the early evening. Cindy was a petite Black and Tan hound with a certain timidity until treeing a coon, transforming into a stone cold killer. Sam was colossal, a Walker dog from the bloodline of Papa’s one and only grand night champion, the fabled Patchy Scout.