The Rule Of- To Hell With Making A Clever Pun. I Met Ann Rule!

For me, the last few days have not been what one would refer to as "active". Several days in a row of staying up until 3 to five in the morning, and not waking up until one or two in the afternoon have paved the way for many days worth of boredom and lethargy. Fun. I had planned on having another one of these relaxing evenings when my mom called me with exciting news. I only remember the main points of the phone call.

1) Hi, Geoff.

2)Ann Rule is...

3)Powell's Book Store

4) Beaverton.

Despite my plans to sloth around the house for the rest of the night, I decided that meeting Ann Rule, one of my two favorite authors (the other being Stephen King) was of more importance. After hanging up with mom, I took a shower, snagged my half- damp slacks out of the dryer, and set off down the street toward the max station.

I finally reached Powells about ten after seven- afraid I was ten minutes late, but when I arrived, I noticed a crowd of people- with mostly gray hair- sitting in the folding chairs that were arranged in front of the podium. Ann Rule was nowhere to be seen. Thank God. I would have kicked myself if I had missed this colossal opportunity.

After a few minutes of waiting- A young guy approached the podium to introduce her- The introduction went something like this:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you, True Crime author Ann Rule"

And then I saw her. Walking down an aisle that was close to where her podium was. The moment had finally come! My favorite author-

The guy continued his introduction speech, and she stopped in her tracks in the center of the aisle. She stood there in the aisle way for a few moments, as the guy finished the awkward second half of his introduction.

Then, she came out and began to speak.

The first thing she did, was introduce a lady named Barb Thompson. She was the mother of the victim from Ann's latest book. (Called In The Still Of The Night) She would be signing the book too. Initially, I had not planned on purchasing a book at the signing. I had brought a couple of books from home for Ann to sign. But I did not want the mother of the victim to think that I had an indifferent attitude about what had happened to her daughter. So as soon as I could- I grabbed a copy of the new book.

One of the things Ann said in her introduction was to the effect of "Some of the more interesting murderers I have written about were from Oregon" Thank god this was followed by the intended laughter rather than cheering that one would expect at a rock show when the guest of honor mentions the place they are performing. How Macabre would that have been?

She then began to talk about her new book. The victim was a female Washington State Trooper. One of a very small percentage of females to become a state trooper. She had lots of ambition. Her first marriage ended in divorce. She remarried. One evening, her husband called 9-1-1 to report that she had committed suicide. The first detective at the scene removed the firearm from the scene (which is a no-no) to avoid injuring the people who were to collect her body. The coroner, who didn't even visit the scene of death, ruled the death as a suicide. The victim's mother, Barb Thompson- (in the above photo, far left) did not believe this conclusion and decided to pursue the matters. One of her allies was a detective named Jerry Berry. He ended up leaving the force apparently because the Sheriffs Department ordered him to stop investigating the case. The coroner who ruled the death a suicide would not meet with Barbara for eight years. He refused to change his ruling on the death. He refused to even look into it. Obviously, odd circumstances were at play.

In an extraordinary departure for Ann, she has written and published this book before a trial and conviction. If I am correct, this is the first time she has ever done this. In previous books she has stressed the importance of waiting until the trial is over before publishing anything. She must have thought this was a special case. She does say a conviction is expected within six months. She will have about four extra chapters then.


When I finally met her- I shook her hand, and gave her my books. She asked what my name was. I told her. She asked if I said Jess. I told her what my name was again. I shook hands with Barbara (The victim's mother) I told her I would be thinking about her in the next few months ahead. She said she would appreciate everybody's thoughts and prayers. I asked them if I could have my picture taken with them. They said yes. I posed. The camera flashed. I took a pic of the next person. Gave her back her camera. And began the walk home.

And that is how I met Ann Rule.

Ghost Hunt- A Personal Journey Pt. Two

We had crossed through the gates of the cemetery- passing into the domain of the lost, but not gone members of society. They might have been in a different plane of existence. Perhaps the folks whose remains were within the cemetery we now roamed were safely in heaven, blissfully unaware or unconcerned with our presence near their mortal remains. Though, perhaps other members of the departed- were not so content with letting go of life. Perhaps they still clung to life- and the bodies which they had once inhabited. Those bodies, which lay in the earth, and inside the beautiful marble crypts of the mausoleum were beyond the point of recessitation, of course, but maybe the spirits of those interred people still felt a strong zest for life, long life was over.

Would they be angry at our blaze attempt to hunt them down? Was our interest in the paranormal experience, somehow offensive to them? Would they think that we were trivialising them, and the journey they made to get to the other side? Were thy spying on us- eyeing our every move through the dark shadows of the night? Were they so detached from their time here on earth, maybe having died in the 1950s, that they may have been just as curious about us and our modern customs, as we were about them? Although a far more frightening and sinister hypothesis begs the question- if we angered them, what kind of reprocussion would there be for us? As we got out of the car, was it too late to avoid the wrath of the spirits that may have roamed the grounds? Would they show us mercy? Or would they drag us screaming, into the darkest corners of the night, leaving our bodies in a catatonic state of blankness? What if, when the spirits were finished with us, we were nothing more than breathing corpses? To be honest, the thought never crossed our mind as the cars parked at the top of the hill by the dark side of the mauseleum. Perhaps we should have considered the possibilities.

Beyond the token sense of somberness and respect for the dead that one is confronted with when they enter a cemetery, I felt no change in emotion. No anxiety haunted me. I felt no sense of immediate danger as the light from the neighborhood disapeered, and the only lights availible to us came from our headlights, the distant Portland skyline, and the brightly lit part of the mauselum. Maybe I should have started worrying- maybe that would have been a good idea- before it was too late. But my mind was on the task at hand. The trivial cultual event of the ghost hunt. A hobby that children have been doing since the birth of the lantern. We were a bunch of people in their late teens, and early twenties- we were adults- but the lure of the dead has never ceased to strong arm maturity into submission. We were as giddy, as a bunch of kids in a theme park. Only we behaved with much more reservation than that.

We got out of the car. We followed the group to a grave that was situated below an American flag. It was the final resting place of one of the girl's grandfather's. We all bowed our heads in prayer. I think the prayer was in vietnamese, (It was an asain language) but I prayed along with them anyway, giving my own silent prayer in english.

After the prayers were done, and we were fairly confident that spirits would not be offended by our casual/recreational presence in thier sacred domain, we started gathering up all of our equipment- flashlights, video cameras- Anthony Nugyen held an external microphone (which was connected to the camera I was holding. He said if I let the mic cord slip out, he would kill me.) and, I believe a bow staff. Just incase we were attacked by any wayward spirits.

They did a quick meeting of what they wanted to explore first- and, to my delight- (but not Anthony's) They chose one of the chamers of the mauselum. As we approached the mouth of alcove- I observed that on either side of the corridor had the marble squares with the names of many of the departed in a brass letter outline on the crypts, along with the dates of their births and deaths. Within the alcove- massive white pillars held up the celing- and at the end of the corridor- there was a beautiful white stair case leading to the roof of the mauselum. We slowly made our way through the path between the crypt walls, and we reached the stair case. The steps we took and our chatter were the only noises that broke the still of the night. The residents there didn't seem to have anything to contribute to the conversation, and for that, I think Anthony was thankful.

When we reached the top of the stair case- a huge white columbarium greeted us. The tiny squares which held the ashes of the departed featured their names on tiny little brass plaques.

We turned left at the top of the staircase, and a somewhat haunting trickling sound greeted our ears. What was this curious audio phenomenon? Was it a haunting vision of the past, manifesting it's self in some kind of- Oh. Never mind, it was a man made waterfall. Right in the middle of the mauseleuom. This was a very strange oddity of sorts, I mean, do the dead get thirsty? Such thoughts never crossed my mind in anything other than a sarcastic manner as we made our way back down the stairs into the darkness beyond.

Our first course of action was to climb a very steep hill- we didn't know what grizzly ghouls would be up ahead to devour us, or if we would never return, but never the less we marched into the darkness. As we made our way up the steep hill we were shocked at what we found.

A neighborhood- Fenced in from the cemetery.

We made our way down the hill, the secure lights of the neighborhood disapeering behind us as darkness washed over us once more.

Ghost Hunt- A Personal Journey Pt. one.

It was August 24th, sometime in the wee morning hours. I was the only one awake in my dark house, the only source of light coming from my computer screen. I was talking to one of my friends Anthony Nugyen. He said "Hey Geoff, do you want to go ghost hunting with us tomorrow?" Of course, by "tomorrow" he meant "tonight". but our minds were still operating on August 23rd time, rather than 24th. Sleep hadn't yet offered the satisfactorary dichotomy between days to give us the feeling that any time had really passed since the previous day, so we operated under the assumption that it WAS the previous day.

Like I said, Anthony asked me "Hey Geoff, do you want to go ghost hunting with us tomorrow?" and after a very brief period of intense consideration regarding the morality of the offer and what reprocutions this could bring, I accepted. (For the record, this soul searching-quest for morality lasted about ten seconds.)

The next evening- (It was actually the evening of the conversation, I just will refer to it as the next evening for the reasons listed above) I waited in my dark culdesac. A bright street light cast down hues of yellow on the objects below. My family fraternized with the neighbor as if nothing was wrong. This, obviously was because nothing was wrong. Suddenly, the end of the dark cul-de-sac was illuminated. I knew what this meant. Anthony and the others were coming to take me away to my very first ghost hunting journey with them- when someone makes such a leap into the world of paranormal-

Ah, son of a bitch. That isn't Anthony and the guys. Those are two girls.

I wonder if they sent girls to pick me up instead?

I think I will stand awkwardly near the car and see if either of them calls for me.

I stand about ten feet from the car, looking in no particular direction.

They never call for me.

After thirty seconds I give up, and realize that this is not my ride.

I go back toward my house and wait out front a little bit longer.

I waited in the dark for a while more- and then I saw the illumination of headlights turning into my street- A car pulled steadily along- could this be Anthony and the guys coming to take me on my first ghost hunt? I had known some of my friends went ghost hunting before, but this would be an altogether new experience for me- I mean I had seen the ghost hunting and the haunted house shows on the cable T.V channels, and-

Wait a second...

DAMN IT! It isn't Anthony and the guys.

Wait- My little brother says I have a phone call-

Oh, my Step dad is talking to them. It must not be for me.

I walk out.

I walk in later

"Geoff, somebody named Anthony called for you. They are coming to pick you up.:

"Thanks John"

Wait a minute- there are headlights out in the street! But it isn't them obviously. It must be some neighbor or some neighbor's company- because after two failed attempts at thinking random cars were my ride-

Oh, damn. It's them! Good bye everybody!

Now, it is time to leap back into the narrative. Rambling might not be interesting to any readers, and if I want people to be interested in reading my blog, I really should be less erratic.

Ahem

Here goes nothing-

I climbed shotgun into the smallish sports car. I closed my door. The tinted windows somewhat obscured my view of the place I had called home for eight years. The car pulled a loop at the end of the culdesac and I looked behind me as my mother waved goodbye- possibly for the last time. I turned back toward the front of the car when my dear mother was out of view. We had some serious business to take care of. We were going to be hunting ghosts. This was my first time, and to my knowlege, it was the first time for everyone else as well. We were all green. We were youths out of our element. You could say we were fryin' fish we had no business putting in the pan. But when the evil snare of curiositiy goaded us along, we blindly followed it into the grave yard. How were we supposed to know that something so terrible, so horrible could happen that night?

We met up with two other cars at a Big Lots parking lot. We made an immediate departure form the parkinglot, and traveled town the dark suburban highways toward the Sunset/Finley Hills Cemetery. (Where I've been told I have a deceased relative. That is entirely beside the point though.)

Our little makeshift motorcade traveled onto the cemetery property- and we drove up the winding road- onto the grounds of the grave yard. The brightly lit mauseloum that can be seen from the Sun Set highway lomed ahead of us like some fiery island in a dark ocean. To me, there was almost a palpable sense of irony that a building, that held so many lifeless shells of human beings- many people who had been dead for several years- it was almost amazing to me- that such a building could be so brightly lit- as if the occupants needed the light. The cars pulled to the top of the Cemetery, and parked next to a dark section of the mauselom. We pulled our flashlights, and cameras unsure of what could lay ahead.

If we only had known, maybe we would have done things a bit differently...

Part Two Coming Soon.

Japanese Food And Tommy Wiseau- Stellar Combination.

Item 1 On The Adjenda

I don't think I have enough energy to write a full fledged restauraunt review, so I will provide a simple list of why I recommend the San Sai Japanese Restauraunt on 21st avenue in Portland, Or.

1. Very inexpensive.

2. Great Service.

3. Fast Service. The Food was delivered about five minutes after we ordered it despite the place being packed.

4. The food was delicious and very fresh.

5. It was quite filling.

I realize the list lacks the eloquence one would expect from a food review, but I typed the stuff below first, and I am exhausted.




Item 2 On The Adjenda


For those of you unfamiliar with filmmaker "Tommy Wiseau" and his film "The Room" which is already on its way to becoming a major cult classic. As much as I pride myself with the ability to communicate with my writing, words fail me when it comes to the Wiseau Phoenominon. I will let Tommy Wiseau and Malhalo.com's channel on youtube paint a little picture I will elaborate on. Please, watch.



As you could probably tell, the film is a bit cheesy to say the least. The acting is terrible- the script and story is very unrealistic, and the dialouge is simply ludricris- but somehow, Tommy Wiseau's The Room has brought people together and has created a brand new cultural phonomon in the vein of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Surley you are already aware of the nicities that go on during a screening of the Picture Show, but just incase you have been living under a rock since the 1970s, dreading the apoclapsye with out ever knowing what the word really meant, here is a little background information- At The Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings, there is a certain amount of interaction between the audience and the characters on screen. There is a scene where one of the characters proposes a toast- and right when he says "A toast!" the audience members chuck pieces of toast toward the screen.

Wiseau's film screenings go along the same line- When Wiseau was filming, he rented a pre-built set that had pictures of spoons set up. When ever one of the spoon pictures show up on the screen, the audience throws plastic spoons at the screen. You have not lived until you have seen the silloetted images of throusands of spoons fly across your view of the screen. There is a danger of being constantly pelted with the spoons, but my friend and I were resourceful and sat in the back row, free from the terrible bombardment. Though, I must confess I did enjoy throwing my spoons when there were none on screen. I know what you are thinking- and yes. I am an unfeeling rebelious rapscallion.

If you ever expect to see the room without distraction, buy the DVD. As long as you watch it in a theater, you will not beable to hear alot of the dialouge. The audience cheers at it like they are watching a football game. One of the chants (the only one I picked up) is when they show a pan across the Golden Gate Bridge, the audience members yell "go go go go go go go go go" Mostly, people shout extremely obniouxous and sometimes raunchy comments at the screen- just to enhance the atmosphere of audience comradery. There were about 100 instances where somebody in the crowd made fun of a character's breast cancer. (Watch the film, and you'll understand why.) During one scene, my friend and I started singing the theme song to "Mission Impossible."

Also, we got to meet the big man himself. That's right. Him. Tommy Effing Wiseau. We were in line coming into the theatre, (if you expected this blog to follow events chronilogically, you are in for a big disappointment) and I purchased a few souviners. On a wall above the entrance foyer, there was a sign:


The sign pumped our anticipation, though my friend and I had already seen him outside of the theater. (Tommy even threw my friend a football.) But now we would be able to talk to him, get autographs, and even pose for a picture with him- which both of us did.

Tommy Wiseau(Left) and Myself (Right)

Tommy Wiseau Signs My Friend's Poster. (I got one too.)

Tommy Wiseau with my Comrade In Arms, Sir Benjamin Eastman

Yes, it was a wild evening. We also found him after the show and had our pictures taken with him again.

"A Night To Remember"- Book Review.

A GEOFF CRENSHAW BOOK REVIEW

A few days after the Titanic struck ice in the mid Atlantic on April 14th, 1912, a United States Senate committee lead by senator William Alden Smith summoned as many passengers and crew as they were able, and had them testify about the wreck of the Titanic, and why, exactly this once thought "unsinkable" ship foundered. Back then, audio recording equipment was still in the experimental stages, and certainly didn't have the stamina to record an entire senate investigation. So the proceedings were furiously written down by stenographer- and published nearly a century later as: The Titanic Disaster Hearings: The Official Transcripts of the 1912 Senate Investigation. While I will not give a formal review of this book today, and probably won't in the future- I will say it is worth a read. All of the survivors of the Titanic seem to come to life out of the pages and the effect is quite haunting. There are probably more stories in the actual testimony of those who were fortunate enough to make it out than that of James Cameron's slightly fictionalized (though fantastic) multimillion dollar blockbuster.
The transcripts- were instrumental in Walter Lord's Research when he wrote A Night To Remember in 1955. Lord takes the testimony from the 1912 senate investigation, and includes elements he conducted with real survivors, and paints a stark, realistic picture of what it was like the night Titanic went down. There are many stories from the point of view of the crew, and passengers from all 3 of the classes that truly paint the complete picture.
Lord's book was the first publication where all walks of life aboard the ship recieved equal representation. Even in the senate hearings, only two third class passengers testified, because as Lord did everything but say outright in his book- Nobody cared about the third class passengers. They didn't have the mystique of John Jacob Astor, the wealthiest man aboard Titanic and part of the prominent American Astor familym Benjamin Guggenheim who declined passage on a life boat and a life jacked (refered to as life belts then) because he was "dressed in his best and prepared to go down like a gentleman." or Thomas Andrews, the man who designed Titanic and felt so responsible for her sinking that he didn't seek escape. Third class was not as interesting as first class, and they didn't have the liability of the crew members. They were simply non-entities.
Almost every detail of the ship going down is explained- the book starts with the two crewmen in the crows nest looking for icebergs- and finding one a little too late. Then it proceeds to weave a tapestry through the accounts of the passengers and crew- right through the Titanic's dramatic finish to when the survivors were picked up by the R.M.S Carpathia.

All in all, I have to say the book is worth reading. Anymore, it is a little hard to find. If you can find a copy- (which I know you can, since I posted a link to Amazon.com) I suggest you grab at the chance to read it. You won't be disapointed.

Books I Have Read

Book Reviews After This Important Message From Our Sponsor.

As a new blogger, I have to decide what exactly I should blog about. In my last blog, I talked about my "aspirations" of achieving the presidency. I want this blog to be somewhat interesting to people, so I have to come up with a nice healthy stock of useless, hopefully entertaining things to talk about. Some bloggers talk about Politics and current events, some talk about philosophy and religion, some (incredibly annoying ones) talk only of celebrities and their relationship and/or rehab scandals. Some get on just to vent to an unseen audience about how bad their day was.

After painful, and intense deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I will talk about...


Hmmm... lets see...


Whatever I damn well please!

It could include any of the following: Art, Film, Cuisine, Books (Which will be covered later in the post.) Authors or said books, filmmakers, maybe the occasional tidbit from my own life that I feel like sharing with the public at large. (Don't expect too much on that score.)

This blog will have some variety to it. If you were looking for a blogger to drone on and on about a specific subject- then you probably will be disapointed. (Disappointment isn't guarenteed.)

And Without Further Ado- We are pleased to present what you have all been waiting for!

THE GEOFFREY M. CRENSHAW BOOK REVIEW

The first book I would like to talk about today is one written by filmmaker Robert Rodriguez called Rebel Without A Crew. Some of you film buffs may be familiar with Rodriguez's name or with his work. There is a distinct possibility that you know both. He is the man responsible for the El Mariachi and Spy Kids series. Don't let the fact that he made the Spy Kids series fool you, the man is a damn good artist. If you are unfamiliar with the El Mariachi series, (El Mariachi, Desperado, and Once Upon A Time In Mexico) Then you might be familiar with one of the following titles: Grind House: Planet Terror, From Dusk To Dawn, Sin City (Which he co-directed with Frank Miller.) The man has seen considerable success.
The autobiographical account, delivered in a mostly diary format, paints a picture of what life for Robert Rodriguez was like before his success. He was so desperate for money to fund his first full length motion picture, that he spent a month in a medical research hospital going through humiliating tests, and an excruciatingly boring stay. When he left, they gave him $10,000. $7,000 of that was spent on making the film. He had the undeveloped film converted to video tape. He edited his film entirely with the videotape on an old system in a Texas T.V station. He had originally intended for the film to be released straight to the spanish video market, but, by miracle, he lent his only tape to an hollywood agency, and they were highly impressed with it.
The buzz in Hollywood grew so loudly that stars like Steve Bucemi and Cheech Marin started requesting spots in his films. There is a particularly tense part in the book where he is at a screening of his film with film critic Roger Ebert in attendance. According to one of his agents, Ebert never talked to filmmakers after the screenings. It was a tough couple of day for Mr. Rodriguez to wait for the review that would make or break him. Considering what his career is today- you can only guess what Ebert's opinion was.

Second on the list is quite a macabre book called Bones Of Betrayal by two authors who operate under the pseudonym "Jefferson Bass" Seperately, their names are Jon Jefferson and Dr. Bill Bass. Dr. Bass isn't a doctor in the traditional sense of the word. He does not make sick people well- his patients haven't a prayer of survival with him. It isn't that Dr. Bass is a bad doctor, it is just that the patients he gets are beyond saving. They are not only merely dead, they're really most sincerly dead. (Note the slight nod to The Wizzard Of Oz) Dr. Bill Bass specializes in a special postmortem practice that only those of steel stomachs can handle- he studies the way bodies decompose in various elements. His findings have given law enforcement agencies around the country the ability to tell how long an individual has been dead by the extremity of their decay. I know what you are thinking- and no, he does not operate this task out of his back yard. He does it at the University Of Tenessee. Right next to the main campus, he has a piece of acerage. It is widely known as "The Body Farm". The Body Farm is fenced off from the public (for obvious reasons.) For the casual viewer, the sights within would be terrifying beyond belief. But for Dr. Bass, it is a living. (ha ha) He places bodies in all sorts of places- underground, where he studies their decomp. with sonar, under water, even strewn over the surface of the ground where he can study them first hand. When the bodies are finished decomposing, Bass gathers the bones, and places them in cardboard boxes. The boxes are stored under the football stadium there. Considering the absolutely disgusting (though quite interesting) nature of his job, I doubt if anything can make Dr. Bass lose his appetite.
After many years of experience on the Body Farm, Bill Bass has teamed up with Author Jon Jefferson to write a series of books about it. In the books, the roll of Bass has been replaced with a fictional character named Bill Brockton. Bones Of Betrayal isn't the first book in the Body Farm Series. It was preceded by the books Carved In Bone, Flesh And Bone, and The Devil's Bones. They are all enjoyable, but I shall only review Bones Of Betrayal today.

When Dr. Bill Brocton is called to Oak Ridge Tennessee to investigate a case about an old man frozen in an old hotel swimming pool, he is startled to find that the man was a professor instrumental in planning The Manhattan Project. Just in case you don't know what "The Manhattan Project" was, it was the code name the Government used for a covert operation to design the atom bomb during WWII. We wanted to have it made before the Germans and the Japanese had theirs made- for an obvious reason: If they had made theirs first- we would have been bomed. I am not sure if the Japanese persued this technology, but there is evidence that the Germans tried creating the A-bomb, but failed at it. Thank god.
When he takes the old man to his medical examiner friend to be eximined- they find a pellet of highly radioactive material inside of the old man, powerful enough to burn his insides- and powerful enough to destroy the Medical examiner's health.
In order to get answers, Dr. Brockton has to dig into the past and find out what happened back in the 1940s, that finally got the bomb researcher killed in 2009.

I praise the plot of the book, and the wit and charm of the characters. My main qualm is that some of conversations don't seem realistic. There is a part where the Dr. and his assistant Miranda randomly start debating the legitamacy of creating the bomb. It played out like a high school history class debate. For the most part though, the book is a winner.






I read one more book recently- Walter Lord's A Night To Remember about the Titanic disaster. But I am afraid I don't have the energy to write another review tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.

Thank You, And Let's Keep 'Em flying.

First Blog- Introduction

My name is Geoff Crenshaw. This is my first time blogging. If you think the blogs will be interesting, then prepare to be deceived. I think pretty much anybody can read this, so I should be careful about what I write on here. It is a public forum, and perhaps whatever I write here will haunt me in my future quest of a political career. Yes. That is right. I here by, announce my unofficial canidacy for the Presidency Of The United States in the year 2060. Assuming I am still alive by then, I think I will make a great President. If I am a corpse, then I will put the interest of the country ahead of my own ambitions and settle for a cabinet secretary posistion.

As a potential voter, (assuming you are still alive by then too) you might be asking yourselves, "What gives this tricky little upstart the impression that he can lead the free world?"

My answer: "Absolutely nothing."

That is right. I am not qualified to run for President Of The United States right now.

The Constitutional minimum age requirement is 35 years old.

I turn 20 next month.

I have no experience or skills at all needed to be the president of the united states. Well, people like me. And I have been called "Deceptively intellegent" by one of my friends who engages in backhanded compliments. That's about it.

But by 2060, I intend on being a lean, mean 70 year old American Diplomatic powerhouse.

By November of that year, here are the list of accomplishments that I wil have achieved:

REASONS THAT GEOFFREY M. CRENSHAW
WILL QUALIFY FOR THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENT
OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

1. I will effectively lead a campaign that will earn women their constitutional right to vote freely in any of our fine elections.

2. I will make the best choclate chip cookies this side of the mississippi.

3. I will strongly support legislation that will effectively ban discrimination against minorities in the work place.

4. I will have amassed enough sports cars by then, that my collection will be sufficent to evacuate an entire city in the face of a nuculear attack.

5. The experience I will have in film directing, will give me leadership skills necessary in manuvering a democracy.

6. I like camping, so I will be extremely hesitant to let all of the paradise to be paved into parking lots.

7. I will have re-established the fashionability of mink coats.

8. I will have lead a succesful mission to take construction matierals underwater to rebuild, and raise the wreck of the RMS Titanic. It will become a succesful resort in New York Harbor.

9. I will have taken the Kremelin and refashioned it into a youth waterpark.

10. Because I'm Smart, People tell me I'm funny, and I assume they like me.

11. I will have fashioned a plan to place Helvatia Taverns strategically all over the united states- With that alone, I get tickertape parades, and I am a national hero.

12. Same as 11. Only this time, with Mad Greek Deli.

13. I will have a ranch that has swans walking across the grounds. This will give me a princely aura, and I will inspire people just like the Kennedy's did.

14 I will make a proposal to bulldoze a white house, and rebuilt it made out of gingerbread. This would irradicate hunger in the Washington D.C area.

15. Two Words- Free Soup



That is about it.

At this juncture, you might be asking yourself "Why in the hell did I waste my life reading this rambling nonsense? I feel disinfranchised. Disinfranchised, Damn it!"

Well, the answer is simple- in the future, I will write more interesting blogs than this. It will br random, but it will hopefully give you a glimmer of hope in your otherwise desolate existance.

Good luck making it to 2060. It is every man, woman, and child for themselves.

That is all for today.

Thank You, And Keep 'Em Flying.