Hotel Phone Scam

As many of my readers know, Studly Doright, my husband of 43 years, travels often for business. This past week he traveled west to Mississippi for work and then continued on to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to attend a celebration of life ceremony for a colleague’s stepmother. When he arrived home last night he had an interesting story to tell, and I wanted to pass it along.

On his return trip he stopped for the night in Saraland, Alabama, a place he’s familiar with from previous business trips. Since this was an unplanned stop he hadn’t made reservations at his preferred hotel and had to make do with a different place

After he had dinner and checked in Studly went right to bed and fell soundly asleep. At 10 p.m., his phone rang. The male voice on the other end said, “This is the front desk. Our computers went offline and we lost all of this evening’s transactions. We’ll need your credit card information in order to close out our books for the night.”

First of all, one doesn’t wake Studly up from a deep sleep and expect a happy camper. “I’m not getting up tonight. You’ll just have to run my card in the morning.”

“No sir. We need the numbers right now so we can reconcile our books.”

“Let me speak with the manager,” Studly said.

The voice replied, “I am the manager. And I’m going to send security up to get your information.”

“What’s your name?” Studly asked.

The man rattled off a name that Studly couldn’t quite catch. “I’m calling your corporate office as soon as I hang up,” and then Studly did just that.

He fished out his Hilton Honors card and talked to a customer service representative. He told her what had happened and asked for the name of the manager at that location. It didn’t come close to matching the name the caller had provided. He asked for the manager’s number and dialed it immediately.

The front desk picked up and a clerk put the manager on the line. Studly relayed what had happened and asked if the computers had been down.

The manager told him that nothing had gone wrong, and assured him that his payment had been duly recorded. She said his was not the first call they’d received on the matter that night.

Studly finally went back to sleep, and when he left the hotel in the morning he noticed several signs posted warning people of a phone scam.

I had to wonder if I’d have given out my card number under similar circumstances. Awakened from a sound sleep in an unfamiliar room, I might’ve been groggy enough to have given up the goods. So, this is a warning to myself and to you. There are some nasty people out there, and the good guys have to look out for one another.

Peace, people

Cool Hand Luke

How is it that I’d never watched Cool Hand Luke in its entirety?

My goodness, Paul Newman might have been the best looking man ever created. No lie. That face. That smile. Those eyes. Be still, my heart.

And Strother Martin’s voice makes one want to strangle him in mid-sentence. He was perfect as Captain, the warden of the prison in which Luke (Newman), a decorated war hero, is sentenced to serve two years for cutting the tops off of parking meters during a drunken spree.

https://youtu.be/V2f-MZ2HRHQ

George Kennedy won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his role in the 1967 film.

I’m not a fan of prison movies, but this one’s a gem. And the cast is amazing. Dennis Hopper, Harry Dean Stanton, Wayne Rogers, and Ralph Waite, among others, are familiar faces in the prison barracks.

As I write this I’m watching the film. I won’t give away the ending for anyone who, like me, had never seen Cool Hand Luke, but you should definitely watch it, if for no other reason than to see God’s most perfect creation–Paul Newman.

Peace, people.

Whirlwind Girl

That staple of concerts, the ubiquitous t-shirt: Fountain of youth or reminder that our glory days are long gone?

The young man behind the merchandise table smiled kindly as I told him I thought I could fit just fine into that size XL Sister Hazel t-shirt.

“Um, they um….”

“Run a little small?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, obviously relieved that he wouldn’t have to tell me what I’d just deduced.

“I’ll take the next larger size then. And thank you.”

“For what, ma’am?”

“Your diplomacy.”

He blushed. It was all I could do not to pinch his cute little cheeks.

I like my new Sister Hazel t-shirt. It makes me feel 17 again. A much larger version of my 17-year-old self, but a more grounded one, as well. (Have to be grounded; jumping is completely out of the question these days.)

I couldn’t resist this one because my high school mascot was a Whirlwind. How cool is that?

If you look closely at the Floydada high school 1974 yearbook cover, below, you can see my 17-year-old self on the left side of the white space in the D, slightly behind the band mate in plaid pants. My forehead seems to be touching the dot in the exclamation mark.

Kind of like “Where’s Waldo” without all of the stripes.

Bottom line, I was meant to have the t-shirt with “Whirlwind Girl” blazoned across the front, even if it might be a bit snug across the chest.

Here’s the tune, Whirlwind Girl. It’s a fun song.

https://youtu.be/tkUNXOzGE2k

Peace, people!

Last Minute Ticket

Last night Studly Doright was out of town, so I had an entire evening to kill. I could’ve stayed home snuggled down with the cats, but as I scrolled through Facebook I saw an ad for a Sister Hazel concert in Tallahassee that very night. With one click I bought my ticket, threw on a clean T-shirt, and drove to the Ruby Diamond Auditorium on the campus of Florida State University.

Past experiences with buying a last minute single ticket have generally resulted in great seats. I’ve ended up in the fourth row before. Last night I was twelve rows from the stage and right in the middle. Not too shabby.

Fans of the band are dubbed “Hazelnuts” and there was a huge contingent of them in the audience. Sister Hazel was formed in Gainesville, Florida, in the early 90’s and played in Tallahassee regularly during their early years, so there were quite a few fond memories of the band’s partying days at FSU recounted from the stage.

By the end of the concert I was singing along, having become something of a Hazelnut myself.

https://youtu.be/f46ulX6uwGc

(The band members are a bit older than in the YouTube video link, but still rocking strong.)

Peace, people!

Could it be Prosopagnosia? – Praying for Eyebrowz

Remember back when you were a small child and someone, maybe a parent, perhaps a teacher, assured you that at some point you would discover your God-given talent? I do. And I’m still waiting. It’s not that I’m without any talents, it’s just that none of them seem worth developing. For example, I still remember…
— Read on nananoyz5forme.com/2018/04/16/could-it-be-prosopagnosia/

So Far Behind

Who’d ever think that being retired could be so stressful? I took a few days off to enjoy a girls’ weekend in Nashville only to come home to find a couple hundred unread blog posts from people I follow.

I tried to play catch up on Monday evening, but I only got halfway through. And I apologize for not giving my full attention to every post. You’re all wonderful bloggers; otherwise, I wouldn’t be following you. I’ll comment meaningfully at some point. Just not today.

I’m also behind on writing for my own blog. For the first time since I began this adventure in writing I took four whole days off, and the world went on without me. Unbelievable. Here I thought that if I didn’t post something every single day the earth would cease to revolve around the sun.

Laundry piled up in my absence. Email accumulated in my inbox. Text messages went unanswered. Even worse, Studly Doright went unkissed. Well, I hope he did. At least I’ve taken care of that issue.

Tomorrow I’ll make another attempt to catch up. And I might kiss Studly again just for good measure.

Peace, people.

Discordant Joy

Oh, friends, I have had my eyes (and ears) opened to my limitations as a singer. Not that I ever considered myself a person of any great vocal talent, but honestly, I never dreamt I was as awful as I turned out to be.

Before I go any further, I need to thank anyone who has ever listened politely as I bleated out a song from a karaoke stage. Bless you all for your patience and diplomacy. Truly, I thought I was carrying a tune. As it turns out, I seem to have been carrying a screeching cat all these years.

What precipitated this moment of clarity? Did someone tell me how awful I was? Was I booed from the stage? Nope. In fact, when I sang a karaoke version of Jolene on Friday night at AJ’s in Nashville, Tennessee, I received a standing ovation. Okay, to be fair, everyone was already standing anyway, but hey, the crowd was simultaneously standing and clapping, so that’s going in the books as a standing o.

The revelation of my total lack of musical talent came on Saturday afternoon as three of my friends and I toured the historic Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville. As part of the tour one can stand on the famed Grand Ole Opry stage to pose for a picture. I’m the tall one in the back there, surrounded by my friends, before discovering my absolute inability to hold a note for more than about two seconds. Look how confident I seem here.

As part of the tour one can record a song in a studio. Well, having experienced that loving affirmation from the crowd on Friday night, how could I resist having my voice immortalized in a recording? Why would I deprive the world of my dulcet tones?

Oh, mercy.

The experience was wonderful, though. The sound engineer, Dave, welcomed us into his booth even though technically the sessions for that day had ended a few minutes before we discovered the studio area. It was great fun, yet daunting, to stand in front of the microphone wearing headphones that allowed me to hear exactly what I sounded like.

“Dave,” I asked, “am I supposed to be able to hear myself?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s how it works.”

“Damn.”

With a quick look through the catalog I selected King of the Road. Now, I’d never sung Roger Miller’s iconic hit outside of my shower or my car, but how hard could it be?

Again, oh, mercy!

I struggled mightily. My excuses are numerous: I was nervous. I forgot to breathe. The song wasn’t in a good key for me. I hadn’t practiced. Hey, it was my first time! And on and on. Basically, though, I finally realized that I’m a much better tree climber than a songstress. And friends, I couldn’t climb a tree to save my life.

If I can figure out how to share the song file with you I’ll do so. I warn you though, avoid drinking hot liquids if you risk listening.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/umgdbzxrflrmuuc/Leslie%20Noyes-King%20of%20the%20Road%20-%2011%3A16%3A19%2C%204.11%20PM.mp3?dl=0

By the way, if anyone wonders if my days of singing in public are over…Hell, no. I might be bad, but I’m really good at being bad.

Peace, people!

Dothan, AL

Nothing much to say here–it’s just where I found a Starbucks this morning at 8:01. I ordered my coffee Frappuccino with almond milk and am currently waiting for my name to be called.

It’s a huge, very nice Starbucks. Unfortunately it’s on the opposite side of the road from the way I’m traveling, so I’m probably going to have an interesting time getting back on the road to Nashville. Oh well, life without my morning drink is no life at all.

Peace, people.

Nashville Bound

Thursday, November 14. I’ve been looking forward to this particular Thursday for two months now. Why? Because I’ll be driving the eight and a half hours to Nashville, Tennessee, to spend a weekend with some of the coolest women I know.

These are women I’ve ridden motorcycles with, cried with, argued with, and laughed with. They’re good women and great friends.

Studly Doright and I have moved so many times that it’s been hard to maintain friendships through the years. The core members of this group of women, though, has been there for me for at least two decades. And even though we don’t see each other more than once a year, I know they’d be there for me in a heartbeat. All I’d have to do is call.

Most of us are in our 60’s now. For some of us, our motorcycle riding days are over, but the ties that bind us together remain. We’ve made some wonderful memories, like the time we bought fake ponytails that caused us to speak in weird foreign accents. Or the impromptu talent shows that have resulted in fits of uncontrollable, pants-peeing laughter. I could go into more detail, but I’d likely be uninvited to Nashville, and nobody wants that.

I’ll pack my bags this morning. Should I pack that ponytail? I think I can still pull off the accent.

Peace, people!

Unexpurgated

Did you know that limericks, those innocent little stanzas we wrote in elementary school, are actually often intended to be erotic? Naughty? Filthy? Perverted?

Okay, many of us have heard the one about the man from Nantucket. It was the source of much shock and giggling when I was a teen, even though I don’t think I knew the entire limerick until I was quite a bit older and read it graffitied onto a bathroom stall.

For some reason, though, I though it was an outlier, and that most limericks were similar to my personal favorite about the lady from Niger:

There was a young lady of Niger
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;
They returned from the ride
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger.

Brilliant, right?

But on Saturday I found this hardcover (dare I say “hardcore”?) book at a garage sale. Now, I’m going to be honest. I did NOT read the small print on the cover. I just noted the repetition of the word Limerick, and thought, “What fun!”

Only when I got home and began reading the limericks inside did I realize that every single one was naughty. Aha! That’s why one should always read the small print.

Complete and Unexpurgated. Yep. Sure is.

I wanted to share one with my readers, but it took me awhile to find an example that wasn’t so offensive that I’d lose followers.

Out of 1700 limericks, the one above was one of the less bawdy.

So what do I do with this 517 page book? I figure it’ll make a great gag gift in just the right setting, or maybe I’ll keep it to give my grandkids a shock when they have to clean out my belongings someday. I’ll bookmark it with a pair of tassels and really make them wonder.

Peace, people