Chrissy The Cat Ain't A Happy Camper

My dad and step-mother's cat, Chrissy, likes to sleep underneath their bed's covers. She'll spend some time outside watching her fenced in territory, the back yard, making sure squirrels and birds don't dare try to take over her domain, even if in just passing. Sometimes she sits back deep in the bushes, hiding so much so you can't even see where she is since it's pitch black in those deep-seated bushes and she's as black as coal.

But, my step-mother once told me, "Sometimes you can see her yellow eyes peering through the darkness."

Chrissy has gorgeous yellow and black eyes. She is THE perfect looking Halloween cat.

So, the other day, I go by their house for a visit and I have my camera along with me, the Nikon D700 digital SLR, with the 50mm f/1.8D AF Nikkor auto focus lens attached to it. After looking for Chrissy, with my camera at the ready, my step-mother told me that Chrissy was in the bedroom sleeping.

Now I don't think Chrissy doesn't exactly hate me for taking photos of her but I do know she's not that fond of it either. Most of the time she will put up with it and at times has seemed to not care one bit, but, on this particular day, she obviously wasn't too happy with me.

Why? Well, it was quite simple. She was sound asleep, having kitty cat dreams, under the top cover of my dad and step-mother's bed and I walked in there and put my hands on the bulge in the bed cover, with a little squeeze of love added, of course, and then I lifted the cover away a bit and found her chilled out (see first photo), possibly groggy from her sudden shift from deep sleep to conscious reality and knowing the person who just woke her up probably intended on aiming that weird looking contraption at her and saying things like, "Shit, focus already, you slow ass m-fer!" or "DAMMIT, WHY WON'T THIS SHUTTER BUTTON FIRE?" or "Oh, crap, I had white balance set for flash when I didn't use the flash, you big dummy!" or, stupidly, "Chrissy, don't move!"

So, in this first photograph, the one at the beginning of this piece, she seems okay.

(Click to enlarge any of the photos in this post.)

But get a load of the photo I took of her face once she decided to wake up, get out from under the covers, lay on top of the covers and start thinking about, oh, I don't know, how I just took her from a dream in which she's running to and fro protecting her back yard domain from attacks by a swarm of finches who want a drink at the bird bath to staring into a camera lens manned by her crazy uncle?

Look at that mug, will ya? Oh, man, what a face. This photograph is a picture worth a thousand words, with a few, in fact, probably a lot of them, not allowed by the FCC censors.

But, right after Chrissy told me with her look of total disgust what she really felt about my paparazzi interference into her cat life, she suddenly was overcome by a huge urge to yawn and she yawned like you've never seen a cat yawn in your life. Just look at those downsized saber tooth choppers. This cute little girl is a voracious carnivore and you better not forget it either, buddy:

Chrissy makes a great subject and I will continue to piss her off by taking her photograph because, despite her annoyance at me, she is really a good cat due to her cranky little personality that I find to be so cute.

CREST MOTEL

My friend Motel Todd called to tell me he was staying at the Crest Motel on Camp Bowie West. He said he'd moved their from the Avalon Motel so that he could, again get a break from his FOX NEWS-watching, rightwing nut family who he normally stays with.

He said he paid $160 for a week's stay.

(Click here to read a story and view the photos I took of the Avalon Motel.)

The Crest Motel has probably been around since the '50s. It's really not a bad place at all, at least not for dudes like me and Todd who've lived in shitty dumps during parts of our lives, but it does have an unlucky number of rooms --- 13. And the place's outside walls are painted in a pale yellow with the doors painted a light pink.

Think Miami Vice.

But I chalk up the paint choice to the fact that the owner/owners of the Crest Motel probably got these colors of paint for extremely cheap at some auction or from one of those cheapo warehouse places that are full of unused building materials.

Todd's room, 10, was quite roomy, with a dresser drawer, mirror, a t.v. that shows 60 cable channels (meaning Todd can watch MSNBC's Oblermann and Maddow left-leaning political shows) and a little utility room where Todd had stored some Saltine crackers --- a can of something, beans probably since he likes to entertain himself by farting --- a loaf of bread and some peanut butter, all placed on a shelf. There's a mini-fridge in the same room, with it being about a quarter of the size of a regular refrigerator, and plenty big enough for a six-pack or two.

The bathroom, compared to the Avalon's, was really nice. It was very clean and it had a nicer shower than even my own. I forgot to take a picture of it, however. Dumbass, me. The shower looked like it had been updated to 21st century style even though the rest of the bathroom looked like it was the original installation.

I had e-mailed Todd and told him to let me know when he got home from work on Friday so that I could come pick him up there to give me the opportunity to take a few photographs of his newest place of residence instead of him just leaving there to come over to my place for our usual Friday Night Light Beer drunk fest and Bill Maher's HBO "Real Time" show watching.

About 4 p.m. he called me and said he was ready and I drove on over. When I got there I parked next to his Ford SUV, which sat in front of room 5. Therefore, since he wasn't outside waiting for me (he later told me that he had waited but then got bored and went back inside his room) I assumed he was in room 5 since that's where he'd parked. So I knocked on 5's door and got no reaction, even after knocking three different times. The last time I knocked a little louder since I was kinda wondering if he was asleep. Again, no answer.

So I stood there and wondered what to do, maybe start taking photos or light up a cigarette.

I finally decided to go down to room 4. I knocked. After doing so twice the results were the same as room 5. Then I started wondering if someone came out of either room and maybe wasn't happy about a strange knock at the door that they might come out, barely clothed to make it all the worse, all freaked out and force me into a shitty situation. So I was really hoping Todd would appear a.s.a.p.

Next, I tried room 7. What shocked me was that the door to room 7 was wide open. I peeked inside, no lights were on except the bit of outdoor light from an overcast sky, and I saw a dude half past out on his bed, in shorts, socks and a t-shirt. At first I thought it might have been Todd because the guy was Todd's size but I couldn't see his face at all, so I wasn't sure.

I was doing this search for Todd, by the way, because we had forgot to let each other know what room number he was in when he called and told me he was ready for me to come and pick him up.

The reason I couldn't see the face on the body in room 7 was because the person had their left arm arched over their face. The man's clothes were disheveled. He seemed to be drunk and Todd is known to tie one on early in the day, especially if his friend is doing all the driving.

As I stood outside the door, and with the man on the bed unaware of my presence, I looked around his room and it was scatter shot with things we all need in life. Every drawer, desk, shelf, etc., was covered with various things we humans use.

So, without being able to tell that it was Todd lying there since I knew Todd could be found in that condition, I tapped on the wide open door and said, "Todd?"

The person barely lifted up his head, which made me quickly realize he wasn't Todd since he was and old fart with grey hair. He grunted something unintelligible. Somewhat shocked, and who wouldn't be in that situation, I quickly told him, "My mistake, man", and he went right back to sleep, not even bothering to close his room's door or ask me to do it for him.

Then, growing more frustrated, I walked back down to room 5 and knocked on it again. Nothing.

Motherfucker.

But then the Gods Of Who Knows What answered my prayers in my harried effort to find my buddy --- without me getting killed by some enraged motel dweller and having my body mutilated in a historical way and my corpse being found by some jogger running through the woods in Trinity Park --- when I heard Todd yell at me from outside his room that was on the second floor.

He was upstairs standing against the railing. He was outside of room 10. I walked up the stairs, located in a way that I had to pass the old fart's open door, which made me nervous, and I proceeded to go inside Todd's room.

The Crest Motel. Todd's room was on the top, right above the Yellow cab. Look at the place's jiffy paint job.

That's when I took photographs (see the rest of them at the end of this text).

From the balcony I took a photo of a Yellow Cab parked next to Todd's ride because of the public service announcement on top of it. I spent about 10-15 minutes taking photographs. Nothing much interesting to see, unlike the photos from the Avalon Motel. But enough for this story.

Nothing unusual about a Yellow Cab except for the public service announcement advertisement on top of it. Yeah, you stupid young punks, get them britches up and act right or else Grandma's gonna kick your ass.

Oh, by the way, I didn't take a photograph of The Crest Motel's sign since it was changed from a classic '50s sign into a modern day boring piece of crap, which pissed me off to no end. However, I had captured its old school sign years ago. You can see it by clicking here. It's behind the main subject, the Golden Gate Motel sign.

As we drove to my place for party time Todd said the only bar within walking distance from the Crest Motel was Cherita's Bulldog Sports Bar, a small wood paneled little dump, across the street. He said he walked over there one night and got a bad feeling right away, with some rough lookin' motherfuckers inside drinking. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. He saw a looker hanging out with a couple of dudes and when she walked over to the jukebox he decided to make a move. He asked her, "What tunes do you like?" After that short, polite exchange they went their separate ways and Todd kept drinking his beer. But then, he said, the guys with the looker started staring at him.

"They seemed upset that I spoke to that woman."

Sensing that too much beer drinking trouble could possibly be brewing (pun intended) Todd said he finished his beer and got the fuck out of there and went back to his room.

"There's a lot of crazy people out there," he said. "I think that place is a biker's hangout because I saw a dude wearing a Banditos leather jacket."

The Banditos have a chapter in Fort Worth.

I told Todd that I'd taken a photograph of that wild and crazy bar's cool sign some time back when I went out hunting photos (instead of humans since I'm not a serial killer). Its small lot was full, and this was around noon on a Friday, and so I had to park around in the back. I got out with of my car with my Nikon D700 digital SLR, with the 50mm f/1.8D AF Nikkor autofocus lens attached. While walking back to the front of the bar where the sign was I had to walk past the joint's open front door, meaning anyone in there could see me and my camera and think the worst, like I was a private investigator, bounty hunter or some other nefarious crime stopper. After getting the shot I wanted I swiftly walked back to my car but was interrupted by a crusty old fart who had walked out of the bar's front door. Our paths crossed but, fortunately, the only interaction we had was nodding to each other and going on our separate ways.

Boy, was I relieved.

Apparently, according to one reviewer of this dive, I was lucky to escape because after getting home from that shoot I researched the place on the Internet Tubes and found a dissatisfied review of the Bulldog Sports Bar. The reviewer wasn't really happy with his experience there. He wrote this: "Even though there is a sign that says 'No Fighting' it seems the folks running the place are the ones that seem to create the most trouble. A nice atmosphere if you are not constantly concerned when something will break out. Hard to enjoy a cold beer or drink with your buddy while in a constant defensive position. And the whining kid that 'works'? There is more trouble than it's worth to go in. I give it a 1/2 star."

I have been car chased after taking a photo of the notorious Lady Luck on the near south side of Fort Worth by a psycho white trash couple and so, while still willing to take chances, I am always weary when I entertain taking a photograph of a bar.

Actually, if you want to take photos of bars, especially the more shady ones, get to them early in the morning on a Sunday before they open. That's my sage advice.

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE

Room 12. Shot this to give you a better idea of the Miami Vice-like paint job.

This warning sign was placed on the lower floor for everyone to clearly see.

Across the street was the Golden Gate Motel with their classic '50s style sign.
Here's the somewhat obstructed view from Todd's bathroom window.

Ironically enough, Todd had a tube of Crest toothpaste for his stay at the Crest Motel. Nice touch, Todd.

AVALON MOTEL

My friend, Motel Todd, left me a message on my machine saying he'd checked into the Avalon Motel on the Jacksboro Highway near the intersection of River Oaks Boulevard. He also wondered if I wanted to come over and check it out. I called him and said, "Hell, yeah. I'll come over on Sunday." He said make it about 11 a.m. since he planned on downing a fifth of Jack Daniels during the evening.

The next morning I went over there to see if this place was as God awful as it looks from the street and for, of course, taking photographs.

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE!

Surprising, for a dumpy, grungy looking place it wasn't a bad place. The drive area was all gravel and dirt but some of the 25 units had carports. Nice touch for hot Texas summers when shade is a great commodity. I pulled up and parked in an area than seemed like it for visitor parking and got out of my car with my Nikon camera bag holding my . He was in room #6.

For something that's not larger than a box, about 200 square feet, it was impressive and the AC blew out COLD air, a big plus during hot Texas summers. But the only t.v. channel he could get was Channel 8, the Metroplex's ABC affiliate. I told him since the HD conversion took place that he should rescan the t.v. to pick up all the HD channels. But I doubt he bothered with it.

The bed's backboard had a reference to some sexual goings on there in its past. It read "Janet N You N Me" (a photo of that follows this text). It looked like it was painted with nail polish. So it doesn't take much of an imagination to know what that meant.

The Avalon Motel has, for whatever reason, a water tower sitting over it's main office. As I walked around taking pictures of the place some old fat white guy was sitting outside the office in a chair in the noon time sun. He was tanned and bald and had a big beer belly. He wore a white wife beater t-shirt. His assistant, obviously an illegal alien, a young guy, in his early '20s, wore a short sleeve shirt and black pants. He had greased back hair and a thin mustache. Some white trash folks were situated in room #3 just down Todd's 1-room-and-a-shitter place. They looked at me with suspicion.

But that's normal for people who take photos. Everyone looks at you like you're an alien. "What's he doing taking pictures?" Like I'm gonna sell'em to TMZ.comz or something. Puh-lease.

Meanwhile, I waved and smiled to the office's old fart two times, once while driving into the place and another time while driving out of it. His only reaction was a stare of zero. No acknowledgment whatsoever, except to give me the evil eye after I had parked and was walking across the gravel drive towards Todd's room. At the time this old man was talking to an older couple a couple of rooms down from Todd, and he looked at me like I was trouble. What a dumbass.

Well, if I had that job I guess I'd have shitty 'tude myself. Even though from Jacksboro Highway it seems unimaginable that the Avalon Motel --- a relic from the '50s when Jacksboro Highway was a fabulous place where gambling, dancing and other nefarious activities took place --- is still a working motel. It's an amazing achievement. To still be in business in this new world of corporate hotel franchises that have eaten alive the mom and pop places so prevalent in the not too distant past is unbelievable but what with the economy is now it's a very much needed motel with the rent there being $153 dollars a week --- all bills paid and the added bonus of a little fridge.

After I took my photos we then we went to a Chinese buffet just down the street. I decided to take a piss before we left and soon realized that the door wouldn't stay shut. No wonder. Upon closer inspection there wasn't the framing in place to where the door knob's metal piece could lock in place. So the door kept opening. Finally, I placed the toilet paper roll down on the floor to keep it shut. Also, over the sink's hot and cold knobs was magic market writing in red that read, "HOT" over the hot knob and "COLD" over the cold knob. Sheesh, I guess they get some stupid guests. I'm surprised it wasn't in Spanish too, "caliente" for hot and "frío" for cold.

The buffet place, one neither of us had ever been to but was fairly new, was a nice, clean place. One of its dished had tiny baby octopuses, boiled, plus they had some whole fried fish with its head, fins, tail, etc., still attached and, surprisingly, crawlfish. Todd ate one and didn't really like it. Obviously, I didn't eat any of that shit. I just went with my regular choices at a Chinese buffet --- fried rice, noodles, asparagus, shrimp and chicken. After finishing off my plate I had some soft serve ice cream, another reason I love Chinese buffets, and a brownie for dessert.

After eating I took Todd up the street to Family Value, a dollar place, because he needed to buy a couple of cans of fix-a-flat since his back right tire went down during the night. He's checked out of there Monday morning.

He said he went to the Avalon Motel because he just wanted to get away from his World War II vet grandpa and his crazy lunatic cousin, a Manchurian Candidate in the making, for a couple of days since all they do is watch FOX NEWS and listen to right wing radio, like Lush Limpballs. Then, for entertainment, watch the white trash stupidity of WWE "wrestling". Ugh.

Last thing I heard from Todd was another message on my answering machine. He said he'd ventured over to Camp Bowie West (used to be known as Highway 80) rented a room at the Crest Motel for a week. He said it was an improvement from the Avalon Motel, plus Illusion's --- A Gentlemen's Cabaret is right across the highway. But Todd said his money was between going to Illusions or staying at the Crest Motel. That tells you how much he wanted a rest from the unrelenting right wing lunatic madness that envelopes him at his grandpa's house.

"This new place is $160 for a week, only $7 more than Avalon was wanting. Caravan Inn (down the street from Avalon) is $185, plus a $25 deposit --- just for a week. I checked a lot of prices. Anyway, this place is 'divish' but on par with the Caravan Inn. I got about 60 channels of basic cable and a micro fridge, which I can put a six-pack into --- and no graffiti on the headboard, ha ha ha. I figure I may as well get away while I can --- if only for a little while --- since I've been with my psycho relatives for over a year."

CLICK ON PHOTOS TO SEE LARGE!

The Avalon Motel is a can't miss place on Jacksboro Highway with this water tower that sits above the place's office. It's about three stories high.The bathroom. Had to shoot it this way to get the toilet and the sink into the frame 'cause it was so god damn small. Notice above the sink's hot and cold knobs the words, in red ink, that read HOT and COLD.

The room's toilet paper dispenser was useless --- unless Todd gave a shit enough that he went outside and found a stick that would fit the holes. At least the Avalon staff provided toilet paper.
The bathroom door wouldn't close behind you because the framing where it would lock had been removed, most likely when two people where there and one wanted to get at the one locked in the bathroom and busted it open. At least that's the scenario I thought of. Just a guess.

Todd's smokes sitting atop the room's queen-sized bed. "The little cigars were only $2.25 a pack," Todd said.

On the bed's headboard was this writing. Apparently, a trio of sexually active persons had a three way in the same bed Todd spent two nights sleeping in.

Todd standing next to the Avalon Motel's fencing, which is topped by barbwire. And he's wearing his favorite t-shirt.

Todd's car was parked underneath a carport next to his room, a good thing to have during hot ass Texas summers. But you had to squeeze inbetween the left end of his car to enter the door. A very tight fit.

Some Signs Around Town

I don't know what it is but I love business signs. So I take a lot of photos of said signs. Doesn't matter what business it is. If I like the sign I will photograph it. So here's a few I've taken recently using Nikon's D700 digital SLR.

Click on the photos to see a full-sized version (greatly encouraged):

TEXAS TIRE CITY (pulled in here once to get a flat tire plugged. Great service despite the scumbag look)

FORT WORTH BOLT & TOOL CO. (located in a mostly abandoned industrial area near Fred's Texas Cafe)

SINGLETON'S BATTERIES (a dumpy place on Jacksboro Highway that gives off the aura of 'WTF?')

HENDERSON STREET BAZAAR (Fort Worth's best & most visited weekend flea market)
MICHAEL JORDAN MOTORS (obviously no relation to the NBA Hall Of Fame superstar)
FORT WORTH GOLD & SILVER EXCHANGE

CHRISSY THE CAT

My dad and step-mother's cat has a silky black coat like no other cat I've ever seen before. It's soft and smooth and it's a pleasure to pet this little girl. My step-mother found her outside of the school where she used to be a librarian and brought her home.

Since then, a good 10 years ago, they've moved from a condo and into a house. Recently, Chrissy has been spending time out in the yard. She loves it so much it's almost all she wants to do now. Since she's older (less frisky) and somewhat overweight she can't climb the fence to get away so she simply lays in the yard taking a sunbath or else will go into the underbrush along the fence lines and survey her domain from there.

Occassionally, she'll give an effort to chase squirrels and birds but she never catches them. Since she's been an inside cat most of her life she probably wouldn't know what to do with the critters if she caught one trespassing on her yard.

It's a challenge photographing her since she's got that pure black coat. It's tricky to photograph since some of the shots I take of her you can't see anything but black and can't possibly define her legs or paws or even her face, except for those glowing yellow eyes.

In this shot I used my Nikon D700 and a SB-800 AF Speedlight and I aimed the light up and above Chrissy, with the light reflecting back off the bedroom's white wall. This coverage of light allowed for this shot to turn out the way it did, with all her features seeable, as her entire being was covered from above by light.

Fred's Texas Cafe Coldass Beer Coozie

Took off towards Aledo, Texas, a little 'burb directly west of Fort Worth on Interstate 20, after work and hit the Hardcore Texas Ranch House dirt drive and stopped to open the gate. Once inside the gate I stopped again and closed it. Used to be in Texas you'd keep your shit open. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

Anyway, I stopped in to see Hippy Steve and his better half, Beth. We sat outside on the second porch and me and Beth drank her homemade iced tea and Hip poured down Keystone Light's one after the other. I noticed the coozie he had his cold beers wrapped in.

"Cool," I said, looking at it.

So, of course, I pulled out my Nikon D700 and, with the Nikkor AF 50mm f1.8D fixed length lens attached, took a photograph of it.

Well, here it is.

Click on the photo if you want to see it bigger.

We talked about shit for a bit, drinking our drinks and smoking cigarettes and messing a little bit with Beth's cat, Shaboo, before I decided to hit the road back to Fort Worth, back to the hustle and bustle of a city, leaving the nice, quiet country atmosphere I'd rather be.

Here's a photo of Beth holding her cat, Shaboo, on her shoulder:

FORT WORTH ZOO: Sleepy Kitty

When me and a buddy went to the Fort Worth Zoo there were TONS of freakin' kids out there, musta been 30 school buses in the parking lot. I was thinking I'd probably come down with the swine flu 'cause of those little bastards.

I told my fellow photog that I'd rather be on the other side with animals instead of being run past and knocked around by the human animals that were EVERYWHERE on our side.

But that's me. I love animals and hate humanity. Like my literary father figure, Charles Bukowski, said, "Humanity. You never had it from the beginning."

Go to the zoo sometime and you'll know what he means.

When we got to the lion area the big ol' boy, the King of the Jungle, was up on this rock sound asleep (click on photo for a closer look). Some kid said, "He needs to wake up." Which made me say, not too loud but loud enough for people within 10 feet of me to hear, "Yeah, if one of these parents would throw one of their fucking kids into the lion den that'd make him wake the fuck up."

Then, as I was zooming in and focusing my camera on the big ol' boy's face, I heard this little girl's voice.

She said, "You're a naughty man."

The truth, at last.

FORT WORTH ZOO: American Pink Flamingo

I thought this shot of an American Pink Flamingo ruled. I took it when I went to the Fort Worth Zoo, one of the world's best, with a fellow photographer from work and I ended up taking 214 shots in the hour and one half we were there. Had a great time taking shots of lions, a white tiger, elephants, birds, giraffes, antelope, rhinos, gorillas, etc.

I never seen a shot of a pink flamingo like this, have you? A straight on shot. Look at the intensity in those eyes (click on the photo to see the large size).

As far as photography goes I don't think of all the so-called rules, dude, because I don't care about the rules of photography. I don't think composition. I don't think about "the right time of day" to shoot a photograph. I don't "scout" out my "shoots" days in advance. I don't worry about that bull-friggin'-school taught-crap. All that schooling does is place limitations on your own creativity because you're thinking instead of doing.

The only thing I think about is this: I pick up my weapon of choice, the magnificent Nikon D700 full-frame digital SLR, aim it at whatever it is I want to take an image of and push down on the shutter button when I feel it's the right time. The "rule of thirds"? The "zoning" techniques and all that other technical mumbo gumbo photography nonsense I read all the time in photo mags? I have no use at all for any of it.

A guy at work said, like others at work have said when they've looked at the 8X10 photos I put up on my cubicle wall (hey, it's gallery space), "You have got a very good eye."

Yeah, I know I do. Why. I'm a very visual person. I was born with it. Charles Bukowski said we're "born into this" life without a choice but I do know that we're also born into this life with certain skills. Look, I'm not trying to brag here --- even though I am --- but it's a God given ability that I can shoot some terrific photos. I was blessed with a creative gene and I use that motherfucker the best I can. I take my art seriously.

Just as seriously as that pink flamingo is staring at me.

My Sister's Flower Garden

Was over at my sister's for something other than taking photos of her front yard flower garden but when I arrived I immediately got out my Nikon D700 and, with a Nikkor 50mm lens on it (it's the only one I had with me), I started firing off shots.

Of course, since I don't know jack about flowers but do like to take photos of them because I'm a big fan of colorful things, I don't know what kind of flower this is.

I know, I know. I should have asked my sister but I was too busy worrying about my camera settings to ask her what the names of them were.

But I've had two women, one from the Internet Tubes, and another I met recently, tell me they think it's a Rock Rose --- or in the Cistaceae family because there's nearly 200 different varieties.

Fort Worth Champion Spring Service

I was driving around with my dad and we found ourselves downtown and he asked me if I wanted to get a photo of Fort Worth Champion Spring Service's sign. I said, "Hell, yeah," and he proceeded to pull right up on the curb.

I got out and snapped this photo. It's an old as hell neon sign. The place has been there since 1928. Their sign features a leaf spring and a shock absorber.

I think it may well be out of business because it was closed, locked up and there wasn't a car in either of its two lots, one on each side of the building.

And it's website address comes up with one of those obnoxious pages you get when a website is long gone, the one with advertising replacing the original website.

SUNDOWN

This classic beer joint, unfortunately long gone with the revamping of West 7th Street into Dallas West, was located a few blocks west of Montgomery Plaza.

Me and my good buddy, William Bryan Massey III, head cook at Fred's Texas Cafe, used to go to it regularly in the late '90s to drink beer and play darts.

The place had six dart boards and people would be playing at 2-3 of them most of the time we were there. It was simply a good time place. The crowd was older folks who enjoyed each other's company and their drinks and the dart games.

I used a Sony Mavica FD-91 1-megapixel camera that stored images on a floppy disk, and a top notch model in its day (the late '90s), to take this photo and because the photo was so shitty upon looking at it again while going through really old photos from days long past I worked my ass off in enlarging and improving its look by using two image editors, Adobe Photoshop Elements 7 and Capture NX.

The Hardcore Texas Ranch House

Took this pic during one of the parties out at the Hardcore Texas ranch house in Aledo, Texas. It's called "hardcore" because the Texans who attend these get-togethers are hard to the core Texan sumbitches, fellas and gals who like to have a good time, good eats and good company.

William Bryan Massey III, poet laureate of Cowtown (click on link to watch a video of him reading his poem "White Pox") and head of kitchen at Fred's Texas Cafe, is out back walking around doing God knows what while I'm aiming my Nikon D50 for a shot of the back of the ranch house with a gorgeous Texas blue sky in the background.

This place is so old that water tank, used for the laundry room next to it, doesn't work and ain't got no water in it.

I call this shot the epitome of what white trash, redneck country livin' Texas is all about. It's a simple life with no noise from the busy city and no lights from that city either. Out at the ranch you can look up into the night sky and see the stars clear as day.

It's so quiet at night all you hear are the yowls of coyotes and the buzzin' of insects.

The HCTX ranch house is Texas, brutha, and nuthin' but Texas.

At our all night and into early morning parties we take bottles of Miller High Life or Schlitz out of ice and beer filled coolers, pop the tops off of them happy puppies and drink the refreshing alcoholic beverages down while sitting out on the porch smokin' cheap ass cigarettes and talkin' bullshit and listening to some turned up all the way rock 'n roll, whether it's Nirvana or Pantera.

Sometimes we get silly and grab the pump-action BB gun and take aim at shit out in the yard. Or toss horseshoes.

Vivian Courtney's Hollywood Restaurant

Once this restaurant's namesake, Vivian Courtney (click on her name to view a video tribute to her and photos of the inside of her restaurant), died in 2004 it was closed. The main building, which was as unique as the sign, was leveled (wished I'd taken a shot of it before it was bulldozed) but the place's unique sign remains to this day.

In fact, if you want the sign you can have it. John T. Roberts posted this @ Fort Worth Architecture, "If anyone is interested, the old neon Vivian Courtney's Restaurant sign is available to anyone who wishes to take it away. It is a two-sided exposed neon sign with the letter 'V' on top. It sits at the corner of Jacksboro Highway and Roberts Cut-Off Road @ 5915 Jacksboro Highway. I tried to find a home for it with two organizations but they did not have a place to put it. Now I'm offering it to anyone who thinks they can remove it and preserve it. The sign is about 28 feet tall and about 12 feet wide at the widest point."

Me and my friends ate their several times. It was a cool a place, with photos and posters from Old Hollywood --- we're talkin' John Wayne, Elvis Presley, Gone With The Wind, etc. --- hanging on the walls and in each booth there were equipped with miniture jukeboxes that really worked. You put in a quarter and got to choose three songs.

It had a buffet at lunch or you could order off the menu. The eats were simple good ol' white trash cuisine dishes.

A beautiful place that is now in the dustbin of history. Too bad. To me, the old stuff is, and still will be, the best stuff.

Yeah, as I get older I cherish the good ol' days more.

Yes, I'm sentimental but that comes with age and there's nothing wrong with getting older because you get smarter and realize that the modern stuff is just stuff that's not worth a damn (iPods & cell phones, for example) in my opinion.

Hankette The Kitten

My sister, seen here holding Hankette, told me she heard a strange crying sound while she was downstairs in her house when it was raining heavily in Fort Worth, Texas, one day. The sound, she said, was coming from my youngest nephew's bedroom on the second floor of their house. His bedroom windows were open and when they're opened they allow one to crawl onto the back roof. My sister said she went upstairs to investigate.

"I knew it was some kind of animal," she told me. She saw a clump of wet fur on the roof. "I thought it was a rat or maybe a squirrel."

Turns out it was an almost new born kitten.

"Maybe a bird or something got it from it's mother and dropped it there," she opined. "For such a tiny thing she sure was making a lot of noise."

I went over to her house and took pics of the little sweeit pie. I told her to call her Hankette, after Charles Bukowski, since she was found drenched, like a "wet rat in the rain", which paraphrases a line from the movie BARFLY, which Bukowski penned and Mickey Rourke starred in as Bukowski's alter ego, Henry Chinaski.

She couldn't keep Hankette since she already had two beagles and a husband allergic to cats and said she would give her to a rescue shelter or an interested party once she was big enough.

My sister was feeding Hankette with a special feeding bottle and formula for baby cats that she got at PetSmart. Despite my protests my sister said she didn't want to name it Hankette, preferring Yoda based on her little tiny droopy ears.

"I'm not gonna keep her so I don't want to name her anything."

See, if you name an animal you automatically become attached to it and that means it's yours.

Claps of applause go out to my sister for saving a life.

UPDATE: My sister found a couple who wanted a little kitten to spoil. They told her they would get another kitten so Hankette would have a half-brother or half-sister for companionship. "I wouldn't have given them Hankette if they had not made a positive impression on me."

WBM III Posing With Decaying Goat Head

The face William Bryan Massey III (click his name to see a video of him reading his poem "Buttwiper"), head cook at Fred's Texas Cafe, made in this photograph was caused by the incredible stink emanating from the still freshly decaying goat head he held up in his right hand.

"I had to shake all of the maggots out of the skull before gettin' ahold of it, " WBM III told me.

Yew wee!

The goat was drained of it's blood, after its throat was slit open, and the skin ripped off at the Hardcore Texas ranch house a week earlier by Fred's Texas Cafe's self-proclaimed "Outlaw Chef", Terry Chandler, for a special dish he had planned at his white trash eatery in Fort Worth. He used the goats innards for the feast.

So Bryan placed the goat head on a fence post and let the maggots and other bugs do their bidding in eating away its guts and skin. He said, as I was visiting the Hardcore Texas ranch house he shares with Hippy Steve in Aledo, "C'mon, let's get a pic of me with that goat head for a book cover I'm doing." Bryan self-publishes his own poetry books. They're wonderfully constructed and are one of a kind jewels, especially the words in them written by Bryan.

So we went out back and I took quite a few pics of him holding it before getting this winning shot.

He kept saying, as I took shot after shot, "God damn, this motherfucker STINKS to high heaven!"

Of course, this had me laughing my ass off and, fortunately for Bryan, I can take pics fast. I don't do fancy posing or lighting when I take pics of people because I do it the best way possible, all natural with no gimmicks, and so Bryan didn't have to suffer too long with that goat head next to his nose.

Hell, yeah, Texas style all the way, man.

Arby's (created in Texas)

When me and two ladies from work went to Thrift Town, on Jacksboro Highway in far west Fort Worth, Texas, I decided to take pictures of the surrounding area while they shopped. In the same shopping strip as the thrift store was an Arby's with one of its original huge neon signs, which looks like a tall ass cowboy hat. I wanted to document this bad ass sign so I took this picture of it. I love the colors, maroon, yellow and white. And look at the words "HURRY IN" followed by a notice that the place is "OPEN LATE". So why be in such a hurry if it's open late?

My second ex-wife told me she once worked at an Arby's in Erie, PA, her hometown, and said that the 'roast beef' was actually a HUMONGOUS and heavy piece of frozen meat formed into a round ball that they cut up in the back. So just think of that when you bite into one of their roast beef sandwiches. I know they're good but that shit arrives totally frozen and in a huge ball-like mass.

Yeah, I want to "hurry in" and eat that shit. NOT.

Anyways, here's an interesting tidbit I found on Wikipedia.org about Arby's:

"In the mid to late 19th century, a saloon was founded in West Texas by a retired Civil War Captain, Daniel J. Arby. The saloon gained much renown throughout the pan-handle for it's fine southern food and large gaming hall. After five years of outstanding popularity among Texans, Arby decided to expand his saloon to neighboring towns where the menu expanded and included his famed roast beef sandwich and family recipe barbecue sauce. After generations of the Arby family passed down the recipes and the saloon chain gained popularity in the early 20th century, the saloon was updated to restaurant status and included nightly entertainment (everything from magicians to minstrel shows). In the 1930s the family lost almost everything as the United States fell deeper into the Great Depression and was forced to sell their beloved restaurant chain. The Arby's name changed hands over the next 30 years, being owned at one point by the great Howard Hughes, until it was finally bought by brothers Forrest and Leroy Raffel in Ohio, who were determined to own a fast food franchise based on a food other than hamburgers. The brothers were insistant on changing the name to the preferred name of "Big Tex," but that name was already being used by an Akron businessman. They eventually decided on the Arby's moniker, based on R.B., the initials of the Raffel brothers [1] and also because they realized they could accomplish this without changing the original name, thus Arby's, LLC was born. (By coincidence, R.B. can also be short for roast beef, the company's main product, a point which was used when the backronym "America's Roast Beef, Yes Sir" was used as an advertising campaign in the 1980s.) They maintained the cowboy hat logo in reverence of the humble beginnings of the fast-food chain."

UPDATE: This sign is gone. So is the Arby's restaurant. It's boarded up. This is why I take photos around town of stuff like this knowing at some time or another it will be gone to make way for something new, er, worse. It's important to document with your camera your surroundings because one day a picture you took something of will no longer exist.

LOW DAILY EEK LY RATES

My buddy, Motel Todd, got his nickname, bestowed upon him by yours truly by living at the Caravan Inn for a year and a half, from March '98 to October '99.

This motel has been at its same location, at the corner of Jacksboro Highway and River Oaks Boulevard in Fort Worth, for as long as I can remember, and that's way back to the '60s.

In fact, my step-father told me a funny story, that I can't recall the particulars of at the moment, about him driving his car into the place's pool in the '60s.

Todd's room was a typical motel room with the usual amenities. I think he paid $520 a month for his one room, though he had to pay weekly and he didn't have a kitchen but used a microwave and cooler instead. He said the free coffee was in the lobby sitting on a little table in the corner.