By now most of the world knows that actor Patrick Swayze died Monday, at the mere age of 57. The celebrity had been battling pancreatic cancer rather publicly for a couple of years, and if “pure determination” was a cure, he would have been healed. Unfortunately, life is not that way.

Patrick Swayze was a complicated man who tried to be simple, diametrically opposite of most of his Hollywood counterparts. He began performing as a talented and well-schooled dancer. This love of dance came honestly from his choreographer mother. Young Patrick was secure enough in his manhood and masculinity not to be too much bothered by the stereotypical notions associated with male dancers. Much like Gene Kelly, he simply did not care. Chances are that if someone called him a sissy, they would not do it twice.

Dance eventually led Swayze into acting. At first he was cast as the young ruffian type in films such as “The Outsiders,” or “Red Dawn.” These roles simpy served to demonstrate two things: His acting abilities, and sexual appeal to women. Then came that one movie: “Dirty Dancing.”

Though the film “Dirty Dancing” itself was controversial, supporting abortion and taking a dim view of Christian morality, Swayze emerged as a superstar, a world-wide icon. He possessed that special and unique overall package of looks, speaking tone, sincerity, chemistry, wide-ranging talent, and believability. This actor-dancer, nor his partners, would ever be pigeon-holed into a corner again. Furthermore, we found out he could sing! “She’s Like The Wind” climbed the pop music charts. Great voice. Wonderful feeling.

Next along the path came films like “Point Break,” and “Ghost.” However, just prior to the latter “chick-flic,” Swayze also made the ulimate “man-movie” called “Road House.” I’m uncertain if ever a casting agent did a better job than in this film, particularly with respect to the tough, yet thoughtful, Swayze we were blessed to see in that one. The character-interaction with Sam Elliot was not bad either.

Patrick Swayze did not ask to be a public icon, nor did he relish the idea of being an example to others. He was well-aware of his own faults and limitations. Still, in his personal life, he attempted to be as positive an influence as possible, nonetheless.

Swayze was a lifelong smoker, and did not try to hide this fact. What he did do was make it a point never to publicly smoke cigarettes around children or others which he could negatively influence. Unlike many public figures, particularly pop music stars and other ‘cool” actors, he wasn’t interested in garnering an image at the expense of leading others down the wrong path. Enough said, bless him.

Patrick Swayze was a devoted family man, and stayed with one last woman for an awfully long time. That says something in and of itself. I don’t think he’d mind us all recalling him in much the same manner as his lead character in “Point Break.”

Life was his adventure which he tried to get the most out of, right up until the very end. He will be missed.

Farewell, Bodhi… farewell.

Concrete Contractors Atlanta

The End ~ Jimmy Hall/ HJImmy577@aol.com

          The young boy had never seen or experienced combat nor anything like it before. On the mushy, wet battlefield the fifteen year-old stood inexperienced and a little scared, but extremely dutiful and dedicated to the cause of liberty. Indeed, as the Redcoats approached, Master Thomas Oats still dreamed of an independent America, one like his dad spoke of before taking a fatal British musket ball a month earlier. The Carolina Militia provided an immediate opportunity to help him win this desired freedom from the selfish King George, while also avenging his father’s death in the cruel ambush. That’s why he joined.

          Now Thomas firmly gripped his rifle while the lines of the opposing armies viewed, maneuvered, and converged upon each other in the otherwise tranquil meadow. This moment was several days in the making. There were countless hours spent preparing ammunition, helping artillery men stage their cannons, nervous camping, and routine surveys of the land. The mud from the last rain made extra maintenance necessary on the firearms. War was certainly complicated.

          Still, regardless of the circumstances, in only minutes he would kill or possibly be killed; there were no other options available except retreating or fleeing in cowardice and shame. It was time to be a man. This fight would be his defining life-moment, one way or the other. He hoped that all the humidity, cuts, bruises, and pre-battle preparations would soon pay-off.

          A half dozen crows suddenly took to flight from the lone pine tree amid the center of the grassy green field. Perhaps the black birds sensed the upcoming struggle. Unlike young Master Oats, they’d seen and heard it all before. The futility of human warfare, with its inevitable crippling and killing, was nothing new to them, nor were its noise and violence throughout their natural countryside. The birds themselves waged no wars.

          Loud bursts of cannon fire commencing from the rear of the regiments did little to deter the advance of either army. The soldiers emerged and walked steadily forward, moving almost mechanically as a few of their less fortunate brethren fell face down around them. No living man was allowed to stop or leave the moving formation. Though shivering, Thomas played his role as pawn in this traditional pageantry. Step by fateful mushy step he advanced upon the unknown men he was supposed to kill. With the battle begun, he wondered if he really wanted to hurt anyone. His racing mind was full of questions… Did any of these men actually murder his father? Were these enemy troops even here by choice? Of course they did, and were. Now was not the moment to think stupidly; it was the time to kill. As such, he put these thoughts aside.

          Like some simple form of children’s school yard game, each army suddenly stopped as if on cue. The cannons fell deafly silent as the lines stood eye to eye, only forty yards apart. In an ungentlemanly manner, the British raised their weapons first, aimed, and fired in unison.

          Many of the militia’s men collapsed when the initial volley was unleashed. Thomas was shaking but physically unscathed, holding his position. He’d lived.

          Yes…. Alive. Invigorated. The startled young boy was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of relief and thankfulness. There remained a purpose for him after all. Thomas shook his head, accepting of his duty.

          The militia’s commands came loudly. In a split-second he too must fire. Would he kill? Did God measure the merits of men and give them their just rewards in combat? Doubtful. Regardless, someone who’d failed to eliminate Thomas only seconds before might pay dearly for that choice. But, who? Who must be killed? There was a fat gray-bearded Brit in front… How about the young British man he seemed to relate to, the sad-eyed one crying on the far right? Or… What of the officer close by to the left? Someone had to be shot; it was the rules. “Damn these Redcoats,” he thought. They needed to die, and feel the fires of Hell for taking his father.

          Despite the immense dark smoke settling amid the battleground, Thomas’ sight and mind were clearing. Adrenaline took over. This was it. A mere instant of decision seemed like an eternity; current emotions outweighed the logical application of the laws of physics. Amid the mess and mutilation around him, in some unexplainable way the young boy recognized himself in the face of the crying enemy soldier farthest away. It was a face gone bad, sad for the wrong reason. Yes, evil found vulnerable, caught helpless. That Englishman harbored a share of Thomas’ own inner vengeance.

          Master Oats pointed his well-kept weapon toward the right. He held his breath; then gently let out a little. Then it happened. The boy discharged his weapon, sending a fiery metal ball directly at his alter-ego’s trembling trunk. The deed was done.

          As a Continental Calvary unit from nowhere simultaneously stormed into the scene, the British retreated. Thomas moved aside to collect conflicting thoughts. Looking back over his shoulder, it appeared that the bullet had fatally connected with the British lad, possibly stopping his tears. Fortunately or unfortunately, he would never know for sure.

          As the field began to rapidly clear, Thomas Oats understood one undeniable fact. It was always possible that an enemy soldier may one day do the same for him. I guess many good soldiers hide an insatiable private quest for death ….

 Concrete Contractors Atlanta

By Jimmy Hall

There was nothing fancy about it or its boulevard Sébastopol location. The café was simple, clean, and typically Parisian, yet more akin to a large neighborhood tabac. Dogs were regulars, visiting often with their owners, but one in particular ruled the roost. The interior was this dog’s domain.

The ever-alert German shepherd straddling the side doorway owned the place; it was his master’s establishment. As laborers and other patrons from neighboring Les Halles and rue St-Denis entered, the large dog immediately perked up, barked, sniffed, and evaluated them as friend or foe. The French paid the pet little mind, while American tourists snapped photographs and spoke stupidly to the animal as if he were a young child.

“Chien”, as he was aptly named, patiently endured their folly. Few things upset him apart from small prissy dogs eating from their owners’ plates. That sometimes made Chien growl. He didn’t like sissy dogs; no, he was a pure-blooded shepherd, and French Poodles were not his friends.

During my yearly vacations to Paris, I sometimes sat for hours at the café. Its proximity to a main RER and train station at least made it great for people-watching. Locals, tourists, and transients occupied the area. In the restaurant, the servers habitually brought me round, half-melted slabs of cheese atop bread buns when I asked for a grilled cheese sandwich, and I never cared. The strange concoction tasted delicious as I washed it down with big gulps of draft beer, usually Krönenbourg. Downing several large-handled mugs was nothing as I ate, read, and observed life through the glass windows towards the boulevard. In more pensive moods the eastern side bordering the pedestrian walkway was a nice hideaway, as the dog guarded the entrance for me, since I hated missing anyone who might stray inside.

Fortunately, amid the sleet and snow of a particularly cold March day, I chose to neglect my hiding place and sit facing the main road. Strolling inside, and passing right of the bar, I found a place in the long and thin exterior room. Among just a couple of others, a French businessman had a corner table, a dark middle-easterner sat captivated by a book, and a retired provincial (it seemed) stood back at the bar just outside the room, with a tired hound at his feet. I knew the old dog and men were okay because Chien had looked them over before napping.

Alone in Paris, I was actually becoming weary and jealous of the Parisian lovers present throughout the city. “Poor me,” I thought. My relationship was over and even The City Of Light seemed a poor substitute or replacement for a fiancée dearly missed. “But — I’m back in Paris,” echoed within my mind. Still, personal psychology was failing.

Quickly inhaling the food, thinking and drinking became my tasks. I reminisced. I drank. I planned. I drank more…. Suddenly and unexpectedly a lovely young woman strolled past the plate glass windows of the café. My eyes followed her every move. After staring at the posted menu, the woman moved out of sight. I hoped like Heaven that she had entered the café.

A gentle bark lifted my spirits….. She had. I remained almost calm as the neatest of women strode through the room to the small table just behind me.

Eavesdropping on the conversation with the waiter, I understood the fresh-faced lady to be courteous and friendly, although my French ear was poor. As minutes passed, my impulses took control. Unable to resist her voice or it’s pleasant tone, I deliberately broke one of the ten commandments of tourism. I made it obvious that I was an American in Paris.

Her light brown hair, black corduroy jacket, and suede walking boots teamed with various mannerisms to indicate that she may not be French. This gave me license to look around often and bring attention upon myself through my own “Americanized mannerisms,” and loud conversations with our waiter. The risk paid-off…. The well-mannered and self-composed female smiled during some of my antics and said hello. “Hi,” I responded.

Turning around for various reasons, none of which were necessary, we often made eye-contact. Forget the European taboo, I was not being rude, and the woman asked me to join her!

Years of carousing had taught me many things, one being to downplay matters to relax tension and pressure. Purposely leaving my bag of souvenirs at the table, I walked over with a drink in one hand and a camera in the other. No big deal. If worst came to worst, this would be a quick visit with a fellow patron.

In my mind, I ruled out French as her nationality. No true French accent accentuated this girl’s English. She was definitely European, but from where?

We began to talk like good friends. After covering the weather, Parisians, and the two dogs in the nice café, the topic finally turned to ourselves. The best translation of her twelve letter first name amounted to “Mary-Ann.” Indeed, she was Dutch. En route from a holiday in the south of France, this was a brief layover between trains. Mary-Ann was bound for Holland, home, and ecological engineering school. In America we might say that she was on “Spring Break,” which had been extended by her choice.

I ordered another bière while Mary-Ann worked on a sandwich plate and a soft drink. We got along well. Very well. She was a dream.

All things run their course, including time. Before either of us realized it, almost two hours had passed. She checked her watch and became frantic. The train would leave in a matter of minutes. I took her tab and she hurriedly gathered her things. Following a nice goodbye, Mary-Ann was out of the café, and out of my life. She ran amid the sleet flagging a taxi. My only recourse was to take a final photograph from afar. It dawned on me that in the midst of it all we had failed to exchange any type of contact information. A couple of photos inside the café and one of her “erratic taxi-cab chasing” were all that remained. I honestly blew it; I was a disgrace to manhood, the whole gender in general.

One of those few special chances of a lifetime was missed. I contemplated my actions for fifteen minutes before finally making my move out of the bar. Reaching the door I heard the vicious snarl only a split-second before the sharp pain struck. Chien had bitten me squarely on the rear-end. He, too, was ashamed of me….

 Concrete Contractors Atlanta

A “green  concrete company?” At Concrete Contractors Atlanta, we work with or install various types of driveways, patios, sidewalks, pool decks, and projects. Concrete is our business; and, we are proud to note that this endeavor is  environmentally friendly. Our methods and concrete promote a clean planet

Indeed, concrete is eco-friendly, and a good compound with respect to non-toxic, recycled, and non-wasteful building materials. Concrete is green at heart, despite its visible colors! The saying is correct; you can’t judge a book by its cover.

If your personal beliefs encompass environmental awareness, this company is just the right one for you. Remember, concrete is green. It does not follow the otherwise common “breakdown and replace mentality” prevalent amid other facets of construction.  Concrete lasts many, many years.

Overseers are increasingly required in this day and age to employ environmentally friendly practices and methods  into their work. That’s where our company comes in. Question: besides concrete, what other green material is endowed with such design flexibility, permanence, and heat qualities?  Durability? Cost-value?

The right answer is “none.” Nothing fully meets the physical, functional, and aesthetical codes as good as concrete. It’s environmentally sound and safe. There are rarely any problems or unforeseen troubles of any consequence, or kind. Look  at its track record. Pavement and structures don’t  lie!

Concrete expert David Gipson shares, “You can make your concrete … look just like brick, stone, tile, slate, wood, or other material.”  Simultaneously, you are also being true to the green lifestyle AND preserving the Earth. For our customers, we “enjoy the process of turning a large concrete canvass into … art.”  Contact us, and we’ll help.  Concrete Contractors Atlanta

Despite its nature, concrete gives-up nothing in the area of strength, looks, low-maintenance, longevity, or economics to be environmentally sound. That’s the beauty present within its physical attractiveness. It provides benefits without doing harm to its surroundings. 

From Washington to your house, the keyword is “green.”  Make that telephone call to us today. Be a part of the environmental revolution in building and construction.

Let our experts work with you to develop, and complete your driveway, sidewalk, patio, pool deck, and other projects. We even do repairs! Ask us about them!

Concrete Contractors Atlanta :

Telephone: 770-577-9075

E-Mail:        Pam@ConcreteContractorsAtlanta.net

Concrete Contractors Atlanta proudly serves within a 1 hour radius of the metro Atlanta area, including the following cities in Georgia: Atlanta, Acworth, Alpharetta, Austell, Candler, Avondale Estates, Belvedere Park, Bremen, Buford, Buckhead, Carrollton, Canton, Cartersville, Chamblee, College Park, Conyers, Covington, Cumming, Dallas, Decatur, Douglasville, Druid Hills, Duluth, Dunwoody, East Point, Ellenwood, Fairburn, Fayetteville, Flowery Branch, Gwinett, Hiram, Jonesboro, Kennesaw, Locust Grove, Lawrenceville, Lilburn, Lithia Springs, Lithonia, Mableton, Marietta, McDonough, Milton, Monroe, Morrow, Newnan, Norcross, Peachtree City, Powder Springs, Redan, Riverdale, Roswell, Sandy Springs, Smyrna, Snellville, Stockbridge, Stone Mountain, Suwanee, Tucker, Temple, Union City, Villa Rica, Vinings, Winder, Winston, and Woodstock.

As a writer, I am often sent various cds or books to review. Many times I do so because I know the artist; at other times it is simply a matter of curiousity. With respect to Craig Reynolds’ new, self-entitled cd, it was both.   (Lamon Records: WWW.MYSPACE.COM/CRAIGALLEN REYNOLDS )

The danger in such situations is: what if you like the person but dislike the work? That is a risk all reviewers must aways take. In Craig’s case, I figured this would not be a problem, and it wasn’t. His strong personal presence made its way onto the cd, just as if he was singing in the honky tonk where I used to enjoy him.

For starters, Craig co-wrote about half the tunes. Good balance. He has lived enough to be insightful, without being a bore. That is right up my alley, and most other peoples. Secondly, although everyone must restrain their voices some during recording sessions, his remains awfully powerful on this record. He’s in the room when you play the thing.

There are several “must not miss” songs present on this fine first effort. “God Missed Her Most” would be an instant classic if sung by a more famous artist, and hopefully will become one in the future. It is that touching, that good. George Strait, beware. Oddly enough, it is the last track on the cd.

This great recording features eleven songs, and gets better as it goes along. The first tune, “Rollin In The ‘Hey,” is a lot of fun, but not the best included. In fact, I have a hard time really ranking these songs, since they are all very good. They are fun, but also true to life.

These cuts run a wide range from paying respect to the history of country music (“Now That’s A Country Song”) to having a rowdy good time at “Ray Ray’s Juke Joint,” to thinking about “Memory Lane” and predicaments like “Dead Man’s Hand.” The listener gets a variety that is concise, and weaved firmly together by the constant thread of Craig’s powerful and touching vocals. The man has an excellent voice. Unique.

One track on this effort is called, “Moonshine.” It’s a fun one. You will have fun if you purchase this cd, and it will not take any moonshine liquor to make it bearable. We will be hearing a lot from this handsome fellow in the future. Bank on it. “Craig Reynolds” is a definite buy. Grade: A- .   Concrete Contractors Atlanta    .
]]> http://buildpro.wordpress.com/2009/09/01/craig-reynolds-a-great-country-cd/feed/ 0 buildpro http://buildpro.wordpress.com/2009/08/31/president-obama-a-good-comparison-with-reagan/ http://buildpro.wordpress.com/2009/08/31/president-obama-a-good-comparison-with-reagan/#comments Mon, 31 Aug 2009 08:55:26 +0000 buildpro http://buildpro.wordpress.com/?p=39 ]]> Presented by: Concrete Contractors Atlanta 

Few people, with good reason, ever mention President Barack Obama and the late President Ronald Reagan in the same sentence. Overall, their ways and legacies are simply too dissimilar. However, in at least one respect (other than both being President) these two men’s lives look alike…

How are Presidents Obama and Reagan possibly alike?

The ability to be accepted by people is the answer. In order to succeed in American politics or industry, it remains essential that a leader walk a very thin line related to a few matters of perception. It is vital to be RESPECTED and ADMIIRED, but also EASILY-RELATED TO (acceptability), particularly by everyday people and middle class working America.

Why?

People must be convinced that the person in charge is someone to be looked-up to, but simultaneously this authority figure must also be seen as someone who knows them, and is not a total outsider to their life-experiences. This is not a matter of necessarily “being all things to all people,” which can become fraudulent, but rather combining a central base-focus and possessing brains and an aire of dignity.

This is no easy task. In fact, some socialogists argue that real leaders are “born” not “made.” You see, “a prophet hath no honor in his own country,” and human nature tends to ensure a general disliking toward human beings thought to be “above” the level of the one doing the examining.

What happens sometimes is that the leader is embraced as one of the group, at the expense of a great degree of respect and admiration; OR, should the authoratative figure seem too smart, he or she is viewed as such – as someone above the rest, unfamiliar with their situations.

Ronald Reagan solved this problem of duality by often visiting working class men in bars and taverns, dressed in ranch clothing which he truly did enjoy wearing back home. He would grab a mug of beer and seem like one of the fellas. In a sense this was easy, as his pre-political acting background laid the foundation of believability for him. It worked. This, combined with his obvious common sense, leadership positions in Hollywood, and governing skills in California, and “smarts,” gave him the acceptability & respect required.

President Barack Obama also masters both quailities in question. His youth, vigor, and well-controlled temperment make him a big hit with many, many people. This, combined with his heritage and background endears him to millions of Americans. In addition, his expert-speaking ability and educational credentials rank him as a cut above the common majority. There you have it. He also lays claim to the qualities of acceptability & respectability. Like him or not, he relates well with folks.

Seeing President Obama on vacation, walking and sporting everyday casual clothing, further connects him with his public, while not causing a loss in respect, given that he was lounging around amid the playground of the nation’s rich, powerful, and successful. Good job. The Gipper would be proud.

Writing something positive about the leader of the free-world is a good thing. Comparing him to one of the greatest leaders in the history of mankind is possibility an even better one. Being the Conservative Republican who did so? I less than eagerly await the chastisement bound to come my way.

The End / Concrete Contractors Atlanta 

President Barack Obama

Whether your residence, business, church, or facility is located in Atlanta, Marietta, Douglasville, Conyers, Smyrna, Lithonia, Jonesboro, Kennesaw, Union City, Fayetteville, Peachtree City, Lilburn, Norcross, Villa Rica, or anywhere else remotely near the big city – Concrete Contractors Atlanta  is the company for you. Bet on it. We do; it’s our livelihood.

Our staff of project professionals understands your need to get as big of a “bang for your buck” as possible in these trying economic times. We demand the same from our suppliers. As such, everyone is in this thing together. You have the word of this entire staff that we will work with you AND for you in helping to determine your exact needs and then in filling them. In fact, the company keeps numerous testimonials and photos on file to backup what we say. Completed projects are additions to an enduring,  lasting resume.

As noted, Concrete Contractors Atlanta  does a variety of things, and all of them well. However, new concrete driveways, decorative driveways, and driveway resurfacing, concrete overlays, and driveway repairs are our “bread & butter.” From the consumer’s vewpoint, this type of work is our specialty – what we seem to do best.

Let’s communicate frankly for a minute. Your residence or business is important. The concrete job performed is going to directly affect the value of your property, the functionality of it,  and consequently your image. You need the work to be done safely, timely, and correctly. That’s what we do. End of story. Done.

Give us a call or e-mail today, and we’ll both be glad you did!  In addition, checkout our website. Thanks for your consideration.

Concrete Contractors Atlanta  :

770-577-9075  &  david@concretecontractorsatlanta.net

I am a longtime visitor to Griffin, Georgia. For the past 29 years my aunt, uncle, and cousins have resided here. In the natural course of things, the family has extended. Now, my cousins have provided me with many second-cousins. Still, we are a pretty tight-knit bunch. Many are involved with your community.

 One of the real treats of late has been attending my cousin Thomas Bowlin’s little league baseball games. He’s eleven years-old, and I have been to four contests in the past 10 or so days. Being from a small town 52 miles to the northwest (Douglasville) Griffin is just far enough away to be a real breath of fresh air when I visit. Tyus and Ambucus Parks are much more personable than what I am accustomed to at home. That is not all.

I have also noticed several other things. Chiefly, players and families from every race, economical, and social background “unite as one” behind their teams down here. Perhaps more importantly, while baseball and the games are important, they are not everything to these boys or their managers and coaches. They are but one aspect of their lives, albeit a crucial one.

In the case of Thomas’ team, the Yankees, manager Lamar Jones seems to care every bit as much about the young boys as students and human beings, as baseball players. While he knows the sport and conveys and coaches it patiently and well, Mr. Jones makes it clear that baseball is second to family, church, and school. He also finds something truthful & positive to say about each of the guys’ performances, even after occasional lop-sided losses.

To these kids, the games are probably a chance to have fun, compete, show-off, and socialize. For the parents, the league offers their children a solid form of recreation. However, whether anyone realizes it or not, these young folks are learning much more about life, sportsmanship, teamwork, and themselves than they will understand for quite some time to come. I am very glad that my uncle Dan started inviting me to these games. I like what I am seeing – win, lose, or draw…  Concrete Contractors Atlanta