Virginia Pizza Consultants and Creative Imaginings

My Tennessee Williams Moment

2011-11-23T06:18:00.001-08:00

…so it’s 1969 and I’m working between staggered Air Force shifts as a dishwasher for a buck an hour in the Sands Restaurant in Key West to supplement my extravagant military salary and to feed my wife and baby daughter. One July night, around 6, Lennie, the alcoholic owner (who would eventually drink away the restaurant’s profits – with help from his wife Alice, whose inherited money bought the restaurant -- and have to sell it) comes to me and points to the open back door of the kitchen where I see a short man, around fifty or so, in a white Mark Twain suit, standing with a tanned guy in his twenties who looks like a tennis instructor, who has a large white dog, maybe a huskie or a Samoyed, on a leash.

“See that man in the white suit?” Lennie asks. I nod. “Well, that’s Tennessee Williams. Tell him he can’t bring a dog into a restaurant in Key West because it’s against the health laws, but tell him nicely, Eddie! Tell him you will tie the dog up by the back door and feed it some of the meat that comes back from people who don’t finish their whole dinners.” (Which will cut into my ability to save some of the huge prime ribs and steaks that customers are constantly returning because they get pretty wasted, waiting at the bar for their tables to be ready…this second job was the only time we really ate well. I would trim off the meat and wrap it in foil and take it back to our ratty two-bedroom trailer on nearby Stock Island. I was also able to take home conch chowder and lobster thermador on some nights. Anyway…)

So I go to the door in my shorts and sweaty white T-shirt (washing dishes was hot work and the kitchen wasn’t air-conditioned against the wonderful Florida Keys’ humidity) and say, “Good evening, Mr. Williams, it is really an honor to meet you. I hope someday to write a novel or a play and have been inspired by your work.”

He stares at me as if I am invisible. The tennis-type sighs in a non-masculine way, as if I’m wasting their time, which I suppose I am. Anyway…I continue, holding out my hand toward the dog’s leash.

“I’ve been asked to inform you that the health department in Key West does not allow animals to be brought into restaurants, but I will personally take your dog and keep an eye on him, as well as offer him some delicious meat from the Sands’ kitchen.”

He stares at me as if I am invisible. The tennis-type sighs another non-masculine sigh, as if I’m wasting their time, which I suppose I am. Finally, Tennessee (may I call him Tennessee?) speaks.

“We came here for dinner and my dog will certainly be coming in with us!” he snaps.

“But sir, the restaurant can be closed down and fined if we allow pets to enter the restaurant,” I explain somewhat lamely, maybe.

“I don’t know why I was told by that hostess to come back here. I shall enter through the front door, and the dog comes in with me!” he asserts. “He will certainly not be tied back here and be fed by you, and if you do not understand that, I will tell him to bite your goddam nuts off!” which causes the tennis-pet to break out a big, white-toothed smile. Then Williams turns away and as I watch, turns the corner of the building and heads toward the parking lot with his two pets.

Minutes later, as I’m feeding more dishes into the washing machine (which will run out of hot water by seven o’clock because Lennie is too cheap to buy a large-enough water heater), I feel Lennie’s hand on my arm.

“What the hell did you say to Tennessee Williams?! He never came in!” Lennie shouts, sending billows of Scotch- and cigarette-scented breath past both sides of my face.

“Nothing! Just what you told me to. I told him, politely and nicely, that the health laws don’t allow pets in the restaurants. He said he’d have his dog bite my nuts off…and he didn’t say it politely or nicely, either, Lennie!” I shout back.

Lennie storms back out of the kitchen…and that’s my one and only encounter with a famous writer…and to show my objectivity, I still taught THE GLASS MENAGERIE to my students for 35 years. I don’t think Tennessee Williams ever bought any of my novels, which makes me the better man…of course, he died in 1983, before I was published…which also makes me still alive. Serves him right.

VIRGINIA’S LEADING HYPOCRITE

2011-11-08T10:19:00.001-08:00

The Tea Party Pork Binge

Oct 30, 2011 10:00 AM EDT

They brought the nation to the brink of default over spending, but a Newsweek investigation shows Tea Party lawmakers grabbing billions from the government trough.

House Majority Leader Eric Cantor, the Republican leadership’s tether to the Tea Party, flutters the hearts of the government-bashing, budget-slicing faithful with his relentless attacks on runaway federal spending. To Cantor, an $8 billion high-speed rail connecting Las Vegas to Disneyland is wasteful “pork-barrel spending.” The Virginia Republican set up the “You Cut” Web site to demonstrate how easy it is to slash government programs. And he made the Department of Housing and Urban Development the poster child for waste when he disclosed that the agency was paying for housing for Ph.D.s.

But away from the cameras, Cantor sometimes pulls right up to the spending trough, including the very stimulus law he panned in public. Letters obtained by Newsweek show him pressing the Transportation Department to spend nearly $3 billion in stimulus money on a high-speed-rail project—not the one he derided in Nevada, but another in his home state. “Virginia ... will demonstrate that this historic investment in rail will create jobs, reduce congestion, spur economic growth and improve our environment,” says a letter he signed with other Virginia members in October 2009, cribbing President Obama’s own argument for the stimulus.

Cantor signed several such letters, including an earlier one seeking rail funds a month after he went on national television attacking the Vegas project. He also signed a letter in October 2009 seeking $60 million to build commercial ships, some likely along Virginia’s coastline. As for his bashing of HUD, until last year he owned as much as $50,000 in preferred stock in a real-estate company that receives federal housing assistance from the department.

I HAVE YET TO FIND ONE POSITIVE THING CANTOR HAS DONE FOR COMMON PEOPLE AND THE STRUGGLING CITIZENS OF VIRGINIA…ALL HE SEEMS TO BE ABLE TO DO IS PUT HIMSELF IN FRONT OF CAMERAS AND UNDERMINE THE GUY IN THE WHITE HOUSE WHO IS TRYING TO FIX THINGS HE DIDN’T CREATE…

The Quake of 2011

2011-09-22T06:33:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of the August quake referred to as "The D.C. Quake" and the CNN coverage, making all the fuss about D.C. and NYC! The epicenter was six miles from us, has totalled over 40 houses in this rural county where poor people have no insurance, let alone earthquake insurance (which the insurance companies are now scurrying around, offering...but which won't go into effect until ALL aftershocks have ended...and they're still rumbling in the county!) Two schools have been severely damaged and may have to be demolished, one of which, the high school, where I devoted 24 years of my teaching. Students in the high school and middle school now have to go to school from 8 till 5, every other day, at least until the Christmas holiday break. It was THE LOUISA QUAKE, okay?!

I DIDN'T VOTE FOR THE S.O.B.

2011-08-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

ERIC CANTOR is the epitome of the self-serving, publicity-seeking, BIG MONEY-sucking politician. If you voted for him, please leave Virginia now and take any equally ignorant relatives with you. Actually, please refrain from having sex, because you might bring children into the world as stupid as you are. If you must have sex, have sex with animals.

Ed’s E-books: Descriptions

2011-07-16T10:05:00.001-07:00

LURAY

A young man from the steel-mill and coal country of western Pennsylvania accepts his first job to teach high-school English in a small northwestern Virginia county, home of the famous Luray Caverns. During his first four months, Tom finds a place to live—a motel cabin—owned by Becky, a widow with two daughters: Ronnie, a high-school senior, and Sandi, the older daughter. He develops friendships with a handful of teachers who become the Lunch Bunch as he is learning and refining his skills as a teacher. Tom slowly becomes enmeshed in a developing mystery surrounding his assigned teacher-mentor. Tom also finds himself falling deeply in love: with teaching and with a troubled young woman. Set among the beautiful mountains of the Blue Ridge, where seemingly endless summer is replaced by spectacular autumn colors, where friendly and easy-going Southerners make great food and sell homey antiques, LURAY is a story that takes the reader into the classroom of a first-year teacher and into his life. In addition, the food is good and the environment is stunningly beautiful.

BLUE RIDGE HIGH

Take a trip into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia to experience a passionate love story. Take the moments that come alive in a high-school classroom and beyond, and then season them heavily with suspense and attempted murder and you have BLUE RIDGE HIGH, which picks up where Ed Buhrer’s LURAY left off, but with a hard right turn into something different. In this novel, as Tom continues to fall deeper and deeper into love with two demanding mistresses—Sandi and teaching—there’s a lot to laugh about, a lot to sigh about…but then, with a jolt, something will happen to make you think, “Hey, this isn’t funny anymore—this is scary!” BLUE RIDGE HIGH is filled with colorful and memorable characters—real people who act and sound real—a sense of place made alive with dazzling description, and a true glimpse into a real high school…and for an added treat, a few good lessons in cooking. It also has the ability to take the reader into the story and make him want to stay there. BLUE RIDGE HIGH has something to offer every reader, from romance to intrigue, to insights into the lives of teachers, to good food, good recipes, and laughter, to the desire to fall in love all over again. You won’t be sorry you read this novel.

ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET NIXON AND EISENHOWER: Baby Boomer Tales from the New Jersey Suburbs

Growing up in New Jersey: Land of Toxic Waste Dumps...Home to the Homeless Garbage Barges of the Seven Seas...state that actually wants to fight over who owns Staten Island... maybe the final resting place of Jimmy Hoffa...butt of jokes from stand-up comedians so bad that no one laughs at them (the comedians or the jokes)...Lower Intestinal Tract of America to anyone who has ever had to drive up (or down) the Jersey Turnpike...Usurper of Rhode Island's former right to be "The Most Densely Populated State"...and on and on. New Jersey wasn’t always like that.

When I was a boy in America’s adolescence of the Fifties, it was different; when I was a young man, it was still different. New Jersey: The Garden State...Land of Deep Valleys and Pristine Snow-covered Peaks...Home of Rolling Hills and Wildflowers...tiny villages of white church steeples and bounteous orchards...mile on mile of white-sand beaches and underground caverns...quiet and uncrowded two-lane highways...wind-swept forests of snow-covered redwood, birch, and date palm...and...

Okay, it was never totally like that, either, but it was still a pretty good place to grow up. Today’s young people will be amazed at our generation. We were innocents: innocent of sex and other adult wonders; and we were adventurers: our thumbs could take us to places our feet couldn’t. We rode our bikes everywhere – without pads or helmets; we could not only swim in the streams, we could drink from them. We witnessed one of the greatest inventions of the century: Pez. Well, some historian might say it was the Sputnik that kicked off the race for space, but I recall that practically every kid in America had a Pez dispenser in his pocket; I don’t remember any of us with a Sputnik! We ran home, dropped our “school” clothes, and ran back outside to play…our games, not ones manufactured for us with tons of batteries and imbedded computer chips in them. The seasons all held something special; you could go to the movies all day for fifty cents and still have enough left over for an ice-cream cone on the way home. And we were all part of a truly remarkable moment: Jonas Salk cured us of the terrifying fear of polio..and Nixon tried, but didn’t quite cure us of the terrifying fear (thanks to McCarthy and weekly air-raid drills) of evil Communists.

It’s not like that anymore…is it? And it’s not just about New Jersey, after all, it’s about growing up in the new suburbs in the new, post-war America. All of these times are captured, humorously, in my 80,000-word memoir, ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET NIXON AND EISENHOWER: Baby Boomer Tales from the New Jersey Suburbs, a journey that will take baby boomers back to their childhoods and younger readers back to a simpler and more innocent time, starring a recurring cast of juvenile characters roaming the environs of school and neighborhood. I envision an audience of both late adolescents and adults, anyone who understands the importance of tradition and family. It will be of interest to the huge audience of baby boomers (such as the author himself) who are looking to revisit their own adolescences, now that they have time in their retirements to go back to the enjoyment of reading.

ONLY: Growing Up Alone

Growing up has never been easy, with parents and teachers and bullies and friends who aren't friends two days later. Dark, shadowy monsters that inhabit your bedroom at night can be frightening. Growing up alone, as an only child, with no one to share these fears with, really stinks. ONLY is about a kind of growing up that takes place as much in the inner thoughts of a child as in what he hears from the "others" in his life that are often a great deal fewer than in the lives of those kids who grow up in larger families. ONLY is a story of that only child who had a “brother”--the ideal child that his parents expected when he popped out of the womb and slid, slippery, into the delivering doctor's gloved hands, the child who would, of course, get all A's in school and never lie. For this “only,” life was hard when this ideal son was always there, living in that same house, to constantly remind the parents that their actual "only" wasn't quite what they had hoped for in their only attempt at parenthood. Most of all, ONLY is the story of one such "only," desperately wishing for a brother, while experiencing the sometimes funny, sometimes joyful, often painful, and without doubt, poignant moments of growing up in the middle years prior to the invasion of puberty and the awareness of self in its most pervasively adolescent manifestations.

And finally, a brother appears -- one that only two kids know about -- who gives this lonely only child a real “brother”…for a while, anyway.

SHAG SUMMER: An Adolescent Odyssey

Imagine getting your first job, as a caddy, and heading to Pennsylvania for your sixteenth summer…and coming home taller, naïve no longer, and completely and totally aware of what it means to be intimate with the opposite sex…and in love. SHAG SUMMER is set at a Pocono Mountains resort in the summer of 1962, the summer of sixteen-year-old Freddie Fielding’s sexual awakening, but it is more than just a coming-of-age story; it is a “growing up” epic, filled with a great deal of humor, tasteful sex, detailed description, realistic dialogue, and unforgettable characters, many the golfers that Freddie meets in his two-and-a-half months of caddying. This novel is for an audience of readers who like a happy ending with all loose ends neatly tied up, people who love to laugh, and anyone who has ever fallen in love.

THE DEVIL IN THE PINES – A Handy Boys Adventure

Off on a camping trip and search for buried Revolutionary War gold in the Pine Barrens of southern New Jersey, the Handy boys, Dan and Stan -- along with some chums, one cousin, and a hound dog -- are soon caught up in two cases that their famous detective father, Fosdick Handy, is working on with a combined task force of local and federal agents. Both sinister and supernatural forces will be at work as the boys try to get through one more exciting and unbelievable adventure after another, all the while trying to make sure they get home in time for dinner!

THE GREAT CHICKEN TERROR – A Handy Boys Adventure

A group of foreign terrorists, led by the incredibly evil Assoma bin Reqtaam, is intent on wreaking havoc on the American economy by destroying all the fried-chicken franchises with the introduction of a foreign species of chicken whose flesh has the consistency of a Goodyear® tire. But this is just the beginning of their evil plan to destroy the American way of life and bring chaos to the country. It will be up to the Handy Boys – Stan and Dan – their handful of faithful chums, and some unexpected allies to foil the diabolical plans of Assoma bin Reqtaam and his fanatical followers as our heroes venture from their home in East South Keansbury, New Jersey, on mad dashes back and forth across the Garden State.

CRITTERSVILLE: A Parable of Good and Not-so-Good

CRITTERSVILLE is a fantasy about a town of various animal species who have learned to co-exist and live together in relative harmony, unlike the humans who had destroyed themselves, along with less desirable tenants of the earth, such as mosquitoes, cockroaches, and politicians. The “relative harmony” has been maintained by the various creatures establishing “neighborhoods,” thus we see the felines living together, the birds and canines doing the same in their sections of Crittersville. This harmony, however, becomes threatened, as will the entire town of Crittersville, by the arrival of a terrifying creature -- a griffin -- and an evil wizard who controls it. It will take the united efforts of all the members of Crittersville and a couple unlikely heroes to rid the town of this terrible threat.

NEW E-BOOK!

2011-05-27T09:45:00.001-07:00

I now have a seventh e-book on Amazon, and this one’s a monster at 437 pages…attached is a photo of the cover and below is a brief blurb about the novel….I’d appreciate your spreading the word…as well as reading it…thanks.

There's a new e-book!

2011-05-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

What’s the ‘Coolest’ Thing You’ve Ever Done?

2011-05-07T09:07:00.001-07:00

A former student asked me recently, “B., what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever done?” It wasn’t something that I’d been considering at the time, but after a few moments, here’s what I came up with:

In the spring of 1963 – my freshman year in college – Count Basie and his band came to Montclair State College. I was supposed to meet Charley Blakely, a fellow freshman from North Bergen, and I did, but he was about ten minutes late and when we entered the large gym where the basketball games were played, it was about 8:15 and the place was jammed.

They had the bleachers on both sides down but there didn’t seem to be a space anywhere. Directly across from us (we were standing inside the lobby doors), against the back wall, Count Basie and the band were already putting the jazz into the New Jersey air.

“It doesn’t look like there’s a seat left. Whaddaya wanna do?” Charley asked me. “Shit, I don’t know,” I probably replied. “How come no one’s sitting on the floor?” he said. “You know they don’t want anyone to walk on that floor with shoes on,” I said. “But we’re both wearin’ tennis shoes,” Charley answered. (This was long before today’s hundred-dollar, glorified sneakers; you either wore black-and-white high-tops or white “tennis” shoes, even if you never picked up a racket.) “You wanna go sit in front of the band?” I suggested, without thinking much about it. “Yeah,” Charley said…and we started walking across the darkened gymnasium floor, knowing that every eye in the stands was probably watching us.

“If The Count looks at us like we’re a couple ‘o dickheads, I’m gonna die,” Charley whispered, voicing my exact thoughts.

Anyway, we got to the out-of-bounds or base line, right under where the basket and backboard had been raised, and we sat down, like in the lotus position. The band was still blasting away, and off to the right, behind his piano, sat Count Basie, dressed in some kind of nautical outfit with a blue blazer and a white captain’s hat. As I watched, he looked up from ‘tinkling the ivories,’ did that thing with his hand, like he was shooting a pistol, then gave us a nod and a wink, and went back to playing the piano.

Within a minute, the entire stands had emptied out and there were about five thousand other MSC students sitting on the floor behind us. We stayed there the entire concert, unwilling to lose our “seats.”

When the band had played the last encore, I found a sheet of red poster board that had been stapled to a bulletin board on the back wall and tore a piece off and went over to ask The Count for his autograph. He took a pen out of his blazer pocket and signed the piece of red cardboard and then, with a smile, kind of whispered, “Pretty gutsy move you boys made tonight. I was ‘fraid they’d come drag you off the floor. I woulda told them to leave ya alone. You like jazz?”

After I stammered out some kind of “yes,” I shook his hand – he had rings on three fingers – and left.

That autograph is still in my wife’s hope chest – don’t ask me why. I guess that was the “coolest” thing I’ve ever done…unless someone reminds me of something “cooler.”

Happy April Fool’s Day

2011-04-01T09:10:00.001-07:00

“April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.” ~Mark Twain, Pudd'nhead Wilson, 1894

Spring in Virginia

2011-03-28T09:45:00.001-07:00

SPRING IN VIRGINIA

Spring in Virginia, my favorite season. Down here, it lasts a long while. First, we have crocuses and daffodils peeking through, sometimes with some snow still on the ground in the shady spots. Then we have to wait for one stretch of about two days of warm weather, like in the mid-fifties or above, then a good dose of rain: and then the world explodes! We’ll have a thunderstorm one afternoon and after it, I’ll hear “peepers” (tiny, baby frogs…don’t remember hearing them in semi-urban New Jersey…maybe on my grandparents’ farm) echoing from the woods and creek behind the house. After that rain-warmth cycle, the first color will be the swelling leaf-buds on the trees – maple, oak, beech, sweet gum, birch, sycamore, linden, pin oak, hickory – to add to the green that hangs around all year in the hemlocks, pines, cedars, and spruces. Then the leaves appear, first light green, then darker; then the first color.

There are these slender trees down here called Eastern redbuds…the flowers hang in grape-like clusters and are really more purple than red; about the time they’re fading, the dogwoods—the state tree--explode into white flowers and grow wild all over the landscape, as do the native redbuds. By the time the dogwoods are fading, all the flowering shrubs – lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, camellias—pop open. Then all Toni and I have to do is go to a nursery and come home and plant the annuals: marigolds, zinnias, impatiens—and by that time, it’s time for me to take my turn at tilling the 3,000-square-foot garden and get in my beloved tomatoes, eggplants, peppers—twenty kinds of hot ones-- and the stuff I’ll grow for others: squash (which I’ll grow for everyone else but personally refuse to eat; as Russell Baker once wrote, “squash is the only vegetable that tastes like it sounds”), beets, beans and sugar peas (I’ll eat them), and ten or fifteen different herbs--rosemary and oregano grow all year. Toni and I argue sometimes about who plants what and how much to plant, but it’s a fun kind of arguing; after all, it feeds us, plus friends and neighbors.

What I love most, maybe, are the aromas of spring; sometimes, the air smells scented from all the flora, but often, it just carries a crispness that makes me want to suck in cubic yards of it. And the nights! It gets windy a lot through early May, and the stars, unaffected by the ground lights (there aren’t any) are spectacular, like the night skies I remember as a boy…or on dark, moonless, windy nights in summer and winter in New Jersey, when I was a kid, anyway. Some nights, the Milky Way looks as if God took a finger and smeared cream across the darkness. Before the leaves mature, on a full-moon night, the shadows of the trees stretch out forever, and we can walk our quiet country property and the paths up the mountain as if it were broad daylight…or narrow daylight.

On our upstairs deck out back, we can sit out there at night and listen to the night sounds of owls and whippoorwills off in the trees, and the coons and possums and skunks snuffling around in the leaves. That lasts until summer arrives and the ‘skeeters move in…and we have to move back inside. Even the house smells clean, like laundry dried on the line outside, when we can open the windows and let the world blow through. I guess I come back alive with the spring; I’m so dormant, like the plant world, in the winter. The only exercise I can get is splitting some of the wood that’s still too big and carrying it in…and my one- or two-mile walk every other day when my knees are in the mood. The first semi-warm day will find me outside, doing anything, just to be outdoors.

As I’ve said, Virginia’s a good place to be…all year long, but especially in the spring.

Even on April Fool’s Day.

A Little Diddy

2011-02-15T11:09:00.001-08:00

Of all the things I'd like to be,
I'd like to be a duck.
Then I could fly over land and sea,
And watch the people...
Fish.

Ed's e-books

2011-02-15T11:08:00.001-08:00

I now have six e-books with Amazon. Please check them out. Thanks.

Join Us for the 12 Days of Druid Chanukah

2010-12-08T11:34:00.001-08:00

DRUID CHANUKAH (also known as FORGAEETH NUMIKINEN)

On the first day of the celebration of Druid Chanukah, we take a goat out in the yard and sacrifice it to the Druid god Gamieth, god of gonads, by stoning it to death. If there is no goat available, we sometimes substitute a parakeet.

Then a ritual is conducted by cutting its throat and draining the blood into a golden goblet on which is inscribed “Parve.”

Then each member of the family drinks from the goblet and turns around in place three times, saying, “Reunik Wagga Sumtook!”

Then a huge fire is kindled and the goat (or parakeet) is roasted. As the roasting progresses, the people dance around the fire in purple bathrobes, waving their arms and legs in the air and singing. Sometimes they sing songs by the 1910 Fruit Gum Company; sometimes show tunes imitating Ethel Merman, instead.

Pieces of the roasted meat are cut with a ceremonial dagger made of silver and ash that has been passed down since the first Druid priest, Zumnvckt Cabiltallic, climbed on top of the second stone of Stonehenge.

The goat (or parakeet) pieces are then strung with bronze wire and hung in a holy holly bush that is erected in the family’s bathroom or outhouse (for cleanliness).

On each of the other eleven-and-a-half days of Druid Chanukah, gifts are given by one family member to another. These gifts traditionally include small boulders, stoat intestines, old radio tubes, empty cat food cans, kazoos, tin whistles, copies of Dr. Phil’s Guide to Manly Grooming, tins of pickled herring, and stale crullers.

After each meal, games are played with the Holy Granite Ball, which is rolled about the home with the nose. Then the families all go to the temple where the Holy Druid Costume Ball is held; we do the Kwanna-Jutti (a traditional dance like the Italians have but they’re Catholic and not Druid so they don’t call it the same thing but it looks the same).

At the end of the Druid Chanukah holiday, everyone stands around the big candle and sings,

Oagaa, oagga,

Boracia gummlistch

Kama sutra, yoko ono,

Ramma-lamma-ding-dong.

Then we blow out the candle and make a wish.

Then everyone goes to bed with visions of hot haggis sandwiches and prune Danish in their heads!

Last Names I Am Sick of Finding on my News Pages

2010-11-04T06:24:00.000-07:00

Aaaaahh! I am sick of hearing about bimbos named Lohan, Hilton, Palin, Cyrus...and ANYONE named Kardashian!

Latest Recipe for Fame

2010-10-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

1. Be born to a moron of a mother.
2. Be named for a NASCAR racetrack.
3. Get pregnant at 15.
4. Congratulations...we'll see you on DANCING WITH THE STARS next...

Ed's Got E-Books!

2010-10-23T07:16:00.000-07:00

Check out my e-books on Amazon. They're cheap and you don't need a Kindle to get them on your PC, laptop, IPod or Droid. Thanks.

Oops! Wrong Number!

2010-07-10T13:18:00.001-07:00

While staying at a resort last summer, I forgot that I had made a second call on our unit’s phone after calling customer service about some missing wine glasses, so the next day, when I told my wife to “just hit redial” when we discovered that we had no hot water, she was a bit annoyed when, after telling the woman who answered, “Unit one-sixteen has no hot water,” she heard a very confused woman at the Chinese restaurant I had previously called after the phone call about the glassware, exclaiming, “One-sixtee’? Order hot water? You order hot water? We no sell hot water! What is one-sixtee’?!”

Ed Makes a Splash at the White House

2010-06-28T09:45:00.001-07:00

Buhrer Washes Camaro In White House Driveway

June 31, 2010

WASHINGTON—Taking advantage of the hot summer weather Monday, almost-semi-famous, six-time published author Ed Buhrer drove up from rural central Virginia and parked his 1999 metallic pewter Camaro in the White House driveway, removed his matching Mickey Mouse watch and shirt, and spent a leisurely afternoon washing the muscle car and drinking beer.

"This baby needs a little wet loving," said Buhrer, addressing a White House tour group (who seemed more interested in the car-washing than the tour of the executive mansion) as he slopped soapy water over the car, oblivious of how wet his cargo shorts were getting. "Gotta get her looking good so I can impress the chicks when I'm cruising down Route 22 back in the bustling metropolis of rural Louisa, Virginia."

White House personnel said that Buhrer had pulled into the driveway shortly before noon, the chorus of Eagles’ “The Greeks Don’t Want No Freaks” pumping from his car's stereo. According to witnesses, Buhrer spent several minutes maneuvering the Camaro into the perfect spot in the shade under a spreading chestnut tree, and was observed drumming his fingers on the steering wheel until the song came to a close.

The shirtless 66-year-old then entered a side door to the executive residence and greeted employees with a round of high fives and a variety of nicknames.

"Hey, hot stuff, looking good," Buhrer told a passing aide. "Would you know where I could get a little bucket-and-sponge action? My mean machine needs to be cleaned."

After acquiring the necessary washing materials, the bare-chested former English and writing teacher, originally from New Jersey (of course), returned to the driveway, where he spent several moments staring in apparent awe at the Bugs Bunny emblem on the side of his car.

Buhrer, who purchased the spiffy Camaro new in 1999 – after saving dimes in a Log Cabin syrup jar for twenty years - has made an annual tradition of taking time each year to wash and tune-up his vehicle in some well-known spot. In 2008 alone, the veteran teacher and full-contact yodeler reportedly ignored his wife’s nagging about household chores for a week in order to spend some quality time "taking care of [his] baby, The Streak" and washed it in the parking lot at Natural Bridge, VA. The year before, it was the turn of the four presidents to look down upon the car-washing from their vantage point on Mt. Rushmore. Next year, Buhrer plans to do the washing and waxing in the parking lot of Rutt's Hut in Clifton, New Jersey.

"He does this every year and it really seems to rejuvenate him," Chip Morris, one of many younger teachers that Buhrer has mentored over the years, said. "Back in 2006, the car was up on blocks in the high-school parking lot, and he was so busy rotating those tires that he forgot he had a fifth-period Advanced Composition class."

"What're you gonna do, though?" Todd Ryan, guidance director and another younger staff member, added. "That car rocks."

As Buhrer gently applied a sponge to the hood and moved it in small circular motions across the car's contours, a number of White House interns walked by and caught the former teacher's attention.

"She's a real beaut, ain't she?" said Buhrer, popping open a green glass bottle of Rolling Rock and tilting back his head to take a long drink. "The reason GM was in the shitter is because they discontinued this car. Now they’ve done the same thing to Pontiac. Now the morons are bringing the Camaro back. Why didn’t they ask me? The White House needs to send a SWAT team of proctologists up to Detroit to help those bigshots at GM find their heads!”

"Oops, looks like I got a little brew on me," added Buhrer, referring to his thatch of graying chest hairs. "Any of you girls care to join me for another tallboy?"

Buhrer then spent the next 15 minutes answering questions about the features on his 5-speed Camaro.

"They don't make kick-ass rides like this anymore, sweetheart," said Buhrer, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. "And check out these rims. They're a real bitch to clean, but they're totally worth it."

"Back in the day we used to call 'em babe magnets," Buhrer continued. "One babe caught a glimpse of those rims after the Springsteen concert in Richmond in '05 and she couldn't get into that passenger seat fast enough. If this was forty years ago, she would've been in the back seat! If any of you girls wanna take a ride, just let ol' Eddie know."

For the remainder of the day, Buhrer occupied himself with hosing off his car, giving the side doors an extra coat of wax, and throwing out a variety of items from beneath its front seats, including an outdated Tennessee road map, a photo of George W. Bush with numerous dart holes in it, an issue of MAD magazine from 2001, and an ungraded student essay from 2003, across the top of which he had written "Don't Procreate, please! (Look it up, moron!)"

According to White House officials, Buhrer was still hanging out in the driveway long after dusk, revving the engine at passersby and explaining the intricacies of a modern V-6 motor to anyone within earshot.

As of press time, Buhrer had convinced several of the White House’s Marine guards to let him show them around Louisa County, Virginia and sample his world-famous pizza. A White House spokesperson who requested anonymity while discussing pizza said that the President had already requested the recipe (keeping the request from any of his Chicago-based deep-dish-loving constituents).

My Latest Favorite Country Song Title

2010-05-16T10:50:00.001-07:00

"I Can't Get Over You Until You Get Out From Under Him"

Country Drivers

2010-05-14T06:03:00.001-07:00

FOUND WHILE DRIVING

In America, starting a car and going out onto a road can be a harrowing experience; at other times, it can be irritating; sometimes it’s just plain entertaining. In any event, the common motorist is likely -- or liable -- to run into all sorts of drivers on the road (no pun intended). In Louisa County, Virginia, an abundance of these types exist, even in a county with such a small population. These drivers fall into some easily recognizable categories. There are the Clueless, the Meanderers, the Musicians, and the Cools, as well as the Putt-Putts and the Tourists. Some of these types probably contribute to the growing concern over incidents of road rage; others are simply evidence that not all gene pools contain genetic material destined for the inside of the human cranial cavity. One such type of the latter group is the Clueless driver.

The Clueless driver, as the name implies, hasn’t a clue as to where she is going or how to let other drivers know where she is going. Take Edith Clueless, for example. Edith is driving along Route 208, just outside of town, at the prescribed speed of 25 MPH. As she nears the entrance to the Louisa Health Care Center, she comes to a complete stop in the right lane; then she begins to turn left into the nursing home at an exact, ninety-degree angle. It is at that point that she turns on her left turn signal.

“Why is that person blowing his horn at me?” she wonders in shocked surprise as she watches a large pickup truck zoom off down the highway, its driver shaking an arm in the air.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the middle of Mineral, Abner Clueless is slowly proceeding along Main Street; before the post office, he slows to almost a complete stop, but does turn on his left turn signal; then he starts up again and proceeds to the next side street, turning on his directional signal again. Once more, he starts going straight again, this time finally turning left into the post-office lot, neglecting to signal this time. After all, he probably figures that he’s used that particular lever attached to the steering column twice before, so anyone behind him (if he has even looked in his rear-view mirror) should be able to figure out which way he was planning to go.

Somewhere near Trevilians, Martha Clueless has just made a left onto 613, slamming on the brakes just before exiting Route 33 and using no turn signal at all. She, too, wonders why that rude man had screamed such vile things about her and her mother. Like the Clueless drivers can cause anger and even accidents, the Meanderers can do the same things.

Meanderers are those drivers who must not have been able to walk in a straight line down high-school hallways, because they can’t drive in a straight line down a road, either. They wander from the white line on the side of the road to the double line in the middle, frequently touching both lines with the tires of their vehicles. We can observe Nelson Meanderer as he maneuvers his 1976 Oldsmobile along Route 22, halfway between Boswells Tavern and Trevilians. When the right wheels pass the white line and hit gravel, he knows it’s time to turn the wheel slightly to the left and get over onto the middle of the road, a somewhat disconcerting sight to Tom Driver, who is coming from the opposite direction. Nelson admires Tom’s deft driving ability as Tom maneuvers his Toyota Corolla along the right ditch until he’s passed Nelson and can pull back onto the highway again.

Meanwhile, somewhere between Gordonsville and Barboursville, Margaret Meanderer is weaving her way back and forth between the lines, her hands clenched tightly in the 10 and 2 positions on the wheel, as she peers myopically through the space between the top of the steering wheel and the top of the dashboard. On the other end of the county, Leander Meanderer is wandering from one side of the road to the other as he fiddles with the tracks on the latest CD by Bad Daddy and the Gangsta Thuggies, wondering absently what the motorist coming the other way was waving his fist out of the window for. While both the Clueless and the Meanderer are apt to cause accidents because of their bad driving, the Tourists are apt to just cause anger in anyone who is following behind them.

Tourists are those drivers, usually farming fellows above the age of forty, who tend to drive into town once or maybe twice a month, usually in trucks that sport license plates that say “Farm Use Only” on them. These “tourists” have heads on swivels because they need to be able to drive by looking to the left and right, but rarely straight ahead.

Take Abner Tourist. Someone driving behind Abner can observe Abner’s head, silhouetted in the cab of his 1973 Ford pickup, as he drives slowly along the main street in Louisa, alternately looking to his left and then to his right. We can almost hear him saying to himself,

“Dang, that thar gas station closed up again!” followed quickly by “Yep, Pettit closed down, too,” followed even more closely by “Ferebee done got sold; wonder when they done that!” all at a speed of six miles an hour.

Meanwhile, out on 669, halfway toward Blue Ridge Shores, Milton Tourist keeps slowing down in his 1968 Chevrolet farm truck as he takes in the scenery and admires the latest additions to Silas Peckam’s cow pasture. Six miles away, in Mineral, Dicky Don Tourist has acquired an entire train of automobiles and trucks behind him as he proceeds along 522, looking to his right and left to see what stores have closed up and how many flowers have been left in the memorial cemetery. Of course, these Tourists are not likely to cause any accidents, since their average speed is usually around twenty miles an hour, although the possibility does exist that some impatient driver behind them, eager to get the ice cream home before it reverts back to just plain cream, might try to pass in a no-passing zone and cause a tragic, head-on collision with a car coming the other way, whose driver had no idea that one of the cars was going to jump the tracks and leave the Tourist train. Another type found on the road, although not likely to cause anger or accidents, is the Musician.

This type can be observed using his vehicle as a part of a band, usually the drums. We can see Homer Musician, who is proceeding at the high rate of speed along a winding stretch of Route 605, banging merrily away on his steering wheel as he beats along with the hip-hop music coming from his tape player. Coming the other way, Wilbur Musician has both hands off the wheel to drum on his dashboard during an especially exciting drum solo vibrating out of his trunk’s 400,000 amp speaker. Did I say these types are not likely to cause accidents? Sorry, I was wrong; Wilbur and Homer are now on their way to the Great Drum Heaven in the Sky; both cars are total wrecks, although Wilbur’s amp is still making boom-boom-thump sounds inside the smoking trunk.

Passing the smoldering remains of Wilbur and Homer’s last concerts, Waldo Musician drives his parents’ Volvo with his knee, since he needs both hands to play air-guitar to Lynyrd Skynrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.”

“Dang, some people jest can’t drive!” he mutters as he quickly takes his left hand off the air-strings to pull his car back onto the road. Meanwhile, somewhere else in the county, we can find the Cool drivers.

Look, there’s one now, just passing McDonald’s in Louisa. In his tiny little red car, made in some third-world country, with its huge chrome custom rims, Leonardo Cool passes slowly by the burger franchise, his head resting on the driver’s side door, while his right hand is nonchalantly draped over the steering wheel. This is considered “cool.” You see, Cool drivers are out on the road for that one, single purpose: to be observed by others, both drivers and pedestrians, drifting along the road in their customized Yugos and Honda Civics; the cars’ blue-book values usually average about $200; the custom rims and sound systems, which can usually be heard ten to twelve miles away on a still night, average around a thousand bucks. As stated before, not all drivers were born with fully functioning brains.

Heading for another exciting night to hang out in some parking lot in Richmond, we can observe Antonio Cool zooming along I-64, the vibrating waves coming from his trunk and rear-deck speakers blowing bits of litter off the road. Meanwhile, another motorist is wondering about the strange posture of Frankie Cool, whose head is tilted toward the middle of the front seat of his shiny black 1982 Ford Pinto. “How can he drive with his head in front of the rear-view mirror...and why’s he leaning all the way to the right?” the motorist wonders. What he doesn’t realize is that it doesn’t matter; Frankie is cool, that’s all. Finally, there is the driver that makes many others wish they were driving a tank or a bulldozer; these are the Putt-Putts.

Putt-Putts are, as the name suggests, motorists who drive at no more than thrity miles an hour, and that would be on roads with 55MPH-speed limits. In most cases, these Putt-Putts, who are, 9 times out of 10, invariably women, rarely go more than 15 miles per hour. They can usually be seen peering fearfully and cautiously, between the top of the steering wheel and the top of the dashboard, like Margaret Meanderer, who is, by now, approaching Barboursville at exactly 39 miles per hour.

Take Elvira Putt-Putt, for instance. Elvira doesn’t like to drive, but since her husband Elmer had his cataract surgery and can’t drive, she summons up her country courage and makes the dangerous trip from Mineral to Louisa to shop at Food Lion. She doesn’t like to drive in the morning, when there may still be dew on the road, and late afternoon signals the coming on of night, so she likes to make a bi-weekly trip to the grocery store around mid-afternoon. We can see Elvira’s white 1989 Chrysler New Yorker leading the line of sixty-seven cars that have just exited the high-school lot at 3:30. These students will get home sometime around six that evening.

Meanwhile, Esther Putt-Putt is slowly making her way into town along 646, careful not to go faster than fifteen, especially around those dangerous curves. To be sure she’s being a safe driver, she gives the brake pedal a tap every two or three seconds. She, too, wonders why the man behind her is flashing his headlights and blowing his horn. Pulling over slowly into a driveway entrance, she frowns as he zooms past, and wonders why “that man was saying something about a ditch.”

Of course, some Putt-Putts rarely appear on the highway. Like Thelma Putt-Putt. Thelma refuses to risk her life on the road, out where all those crazy people who go over 35 miles an hour are; why, if there is rain, or snow, or fog, or mist, or dust on the highway, you won’t see Thelma putt-putting her 1988 Buick sedan on the road, no siree!

Doubtless, there are other kinds of drivers out there who inspire various emotions. There are the Nascar-Wannabees, the Blind Idiots, and the Makeup Mollies, among others. As I said at the beginning, life on the highways of America can be a harrowing experience. Be careful out there!

My Books

2010-03-28T05:12:00.000-07:00

For anyone else looking for my books or the reviews for them, click on FEBRUARY. Also, I have four e-books on Amazon. Thanks.

Looking for a Great Pizza Recipe?

2010-03-19T12:05:00.000-07:00

Want a great pizza recipe? Want to make your own for under $3? I have one that is tried and true and dee-licious. You don't need the mess (or expense or energy-wasting) of a pizza stone, just the right pan and patience. Instructions come with how to make the dough, how to make the pizza itself, and other tips. A small donation to our retirement fund of $5 through Paypal can get it to you. Email at ebuhrer@verizon.net if you're interested.

The Wisdom of Mark Twain

2010-03-19T10:59:00.000-07:00

"The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and the lightning bug."

Do You Buy Bottled Water? Then Read This.

2010-03-04T07:07:00.001-08:00

SO YOU DRINK THAT BOTTLED WATER THAT NOW FILLS UP AN ENTIRE SIDE OF SUPERMARKET AISLES, HUH? WELL (no pun intended), HERE’S A STORY FOR YOU….

When we had our 200’-deep well drilled, we were required by the local health department in the county to have our water tested for bacteria. After the drilling and hook-up, the driller dumped in a half-bottle of bleach, told me to open all the taps in the house, flush all the toilets, and run the two outside faucets. Then have the water tested.

So…the only water-testing place in Charlottesville sent us directions:

1. Boil a pint Mason jar and lid in water.

2. Within two minutes, fill the jar with tap water and seal immediately, making sure that no fingers touched the water or the lid.

3. Bring the jar to the facility within 24 hours.

Which I did. Then I returned the next day, paid them $20 to be told there were too many bacteria colonies in the water and to do it again.

Which I did. Then I returned the next day, paid them another $20 to be told there were still too many bacteria colonies in the water and to do it again.

So, I’m out $40 and I’m pissed, so I stop at the store and pick up a gallon jug of “pure mountain spring water” from Kentucky. I do the jar boiling, then pour boiling water over the whole jug of “pure mountain spring water from Kentucky” and fill the newly boiled Mason jar with that…and take it to the testing company the next day.

What does the guy tell me this time? “There were so many colonies of bacteria in this sample that we didn’t even try to count them.”

So….I call the well-driller, he comes over and pours MORE bleach down the well, we run the faucets again, do the boiling routine, take it to the company…and after four tries and $80, get the well water approved.

So if you think you’re staying healthier buying that bottled crap, you may want to do the same process and have that over-priced H20 tested! Maybe you just assume that the water-testing place was lying and ripping us off to get us to test multiple times…but it might be worth your $20 or whatever to find out whether you are flushing even more money down the proverbial toilet by buying that bottled stuff that probably comes out of some faucet in some warehouse…in Baltimore, not Kentucky.

Parking-Lot Rage

2010-02-27T09:03:00.001-08:00

I CAN UNDERSTAND ROAD RAGE…AND PARKING-LOT RAGE…NOW

Coming out of Sam’s Club yesterday morning, I found that a white van had parked about 12” from my driver’s side door. I have a 1999 Camaro, and that door is LARGE and needs considerable room to open, which is why I made sure I parked far away from all other vehicles. However, even if I’d had a 1956 Nash Rambler or my old '68 Beetle, it would have been rather difficult to get into my car.

Well, I could reach in enough to move the seat ALL THE WAY back; then I managed to reach the handle to lower the window and cranked it down. Next, I tried to squeeze through the opening in the door, but there was maybe 8” of room. “Should I wait to kill the driver of the van or try something else?” I thought. I could open the passenger’s side door, but I couldn’t figure how I could get my legs under the steering wheel and then the rest of me over the console and the gear shift.

Well, I decided to crawl through my open window, head first. I got most of me in, twisting myself about 180 degrees, propped up between the two seats, and then bent and actually pulled my ankles up enough (with my hands!) to slide my feet down under the steering wheel. Then the rest of me – ass, back, upper torso, and head --- made it into the driver’s seat.

As I pulled out of the parking space (did I mention that there were AT LEAST EIGHT EMPTY spaces on the other side of that white van?), a fellow in his late 20’s, standing in the middle of the parking lot, held up his hand and motioned me to stop. Since my window was still open, I stopped next to him and asked, “Yeah?’

“I was watching you try to get into your car,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, so?” I asked.

“You want me to help you flatten all four tires on that sonofabitch’s van?” he asked with a bigger smile. “I got a Marine K-Bar knife in my truck,” he added, pointing to a large Dodge Ram.

“Naah. Maybe on another day. But thanks,” I told him.

By the time I was halfway up 29 toward Ruckersville, I was already regretting not taking him up on his offer…and if that sonofabitch in the white van who was at Sam’s yesterday around 10:15 is reading this, I hope the fleas of a thousand camels infest your body hair and your whole family gets herpes.

MEMORIES OF ASBURY PARK, NJ

2010-02-27T08:32:00.001-08:00

MEMORIES OF ASBURY PARK

ASBURY PARK, 1953

When I was a boy in the late 1940’s and early 1950’s, I would spend half of my summers with my grandparents on their farm in Freehold, and every Friday, Grandpa and Nana would load the “woody” station wagon with produce, eggs, and chickens (and me in the back, sitting on a folded Army blanket) and we would make the weekly drive to deliver that stuff to white-, gray- and blue-haired ladies in Ocean Grove and Asbury Park who lived in rooming houses and apartments. At the end of the day, my reward for helping Nana carry all those baskets and boxes up all those stairs in hot New Jersey summers would be a grilled cheese sandwich at the Neptune Diner or on the Asbury boardwalk and then a round of miniature golf with Nana, while Grandpa sat on a bench, smoking his pipe, before heading back to the farm in the dark, me asleep on that same Army blanket. Later, as a teenager, I would make the drive down from Essex County and we would roam the boardwalk, hit the Penny Arcade and the shooting gallery, buy a box of salt-water taffy at Berkeley’s, and sometimes go through the Convention Hall to Ocean Grove, where there was a really good bakery, just on the other side of the Hall, that made these really great almond macaroons. On the way back through Convention Hall, I used to love to pop a penny into those machines that looked like the scales you weighed yourself on (and got your fortune told as well), but instead had metal outlines where you put your feet; the machine would vibrate your feet and make them feel rejuvenated. My second date with my wife of 43 years was spent at Asbury; we still have two of the rings from the old carousel. I never got the gold ring and isn’t it ironic that when you were finally old enough and big enough to reach the rings, it was time to get off because you had become “too old to ride on a merry-go-round.” It depresses me to see what Asbury looks like today, a shell of its former self. Madame Marie, the fortune-teller, is gone, the Palace is dead, its heart broken like the windows in Convention Hall. Sad.

ASBURY PARK TODAY

Quote for Today

2010-02-24T05:10:00.001-08:00

"When you argue with a fool, he is doing the same thing."

Quote for Use on a Moron

2010-02-22T11:53:00.000-08:00

"If I want any crap out of you, I'll squeeze your head."

The Reviews Are In…

2010-02-22T11:32:00.001-08:00

Here’s what just a few of all the readers have said about Ed Buhrer’s three novels:

LURAY

I don't like fiction, however....September 3, 2003

A Customer

Ed Buhrer paints a marvelous picture of southern charm, wrapped in believabilty, and injected with colorful, eccentric characters. Luray is a "hard-to-put-down" read, this coming from a person who hasn't read a fictional book since "Franny and Zoey" while a senior in college. Buhrer has a talent for making the reader feel as thought he/she is "there." And what a great place to be: the Blue Ridge Mountain of northwest Virginia. I look forward to reading Mr. Buhrer's next book.

Mystery, Mountains, and Mojo! July 27, 2003

North Carolinian

LURAY by Ed Buhrer is a heart-warming, fast-moving story of Tom Finn's first experiences with a teaching job, love, and missing persons. Tom relishes his new life in Luray, Virginia, especially the beauty of the mountains and the people he meets. Sandi, Tom's love interest, is a complicated character who slowly reveals herself (in more ways than one!). I enjoyed getting to know all the characters in Luray, whether they were funny, sweet, or strange. The romance between Tom and Sandi is a pleasure to read and the mystery of what's happening at Mountain Valley High School increases the excitement. If you are into well-written characters, mysteries, mountains, or pepperoni and garlic pizza, this is a great read.

A Refreshingly Alive Novel! March 16, 2005

By	Robert the Calm (California)

I read Ed's second novel, Blue Ridge High, first, not having heard of him or this one before I heard a co-worker talking about the second one. Anyway, I read the second one and then this one, since I figured I ought to read both. I'm glad I was at the coffee urn when Beth was talking about this guy. This novel (and the sequel) is refreshingly real. Everything is real--the characters, what they say, how they live, and most of all, how the author himself writes. Finding out that Ed Buhrer is a teacher made me wish I'd had him when I was in school. I'm sure he must teach as well as he writes, and he probably inspires a great deal in his students. Anyway, Luray was great and I hope he has more in him that these two novels because he has one more fan and I'm waiting for more!

Great Read! Realistic and Riveting!
Kip
New York State (1/7/2004)

Got this book by mistake, instead of one about the Luray Caverns, but I started flipping through the first few pages and whoops, I was hooked. I have a better appreciation for what new teachers have to deal with, but I really liked the love story, the very real way the author has people talking, all the detail, and I kept getting hungry. If I didn't know Ed Buhrer was a teacher from the stuff on the back cover, I would have suspected he was a chef! Great book, and I'm glad my sister can't follow directions and got me the wrong book for Christmas!

What a Christmas Present!
Trish
Pennsylvania (12/29/2003)

Wow! A former student of this author bought me a copy of LURAY for Christmas. What a treat! I started reading it on December 26th and couldn't put it down. Read it in three hours or so, with only one bathroom break and time out for lunch. Great dialogue, delightful love story, nice subplots, and believeable characters. Loved the detail in the description, all the food, and the idea of calling a mountain "Mom!" As I said, what a treat! I want more from Ed Buhrer!

What a Find!
Ina
Colorado (11/7/2003)

THE STORY KEPT ME SO CAPTIVATED THAT I COULDN'T PUT THIS BOOK DOWN! I CALLED OUT FOR PIZZA INSTEAD OF FIXING THE FAMILY DINNER ONE NIGHT TO FINISH IT. I HOPE MORE IS COMING FROM THIS AUTHOR! I CAN'T SEEM TO FIND ANYTHING ELSE BY HIM, BUT I HOPE HE'S WRITING SOMETHING ELSE. CHARACTERS WERE REAL, THE DIALOGUE WAS AUTHENTIC, DESCRIPTION SUPER, AND I LOVED THE LOVE STORY. GREAT NOVEL!

Best Book in Three Years!
Ted
Connecticut (10/19/2003)

Best book I've read in three years, since Cold Mountain. Although not the epic that that one was, LURAY kept me turning page after page. I would keep getting to within a couple pages of the end of a chapter and figure on stopping there, but then the end of that chapter would make me want to start the next. The next thing I knew I was finished with it! This author has a great flair for realistic dialogue, great descriptions (without going overboard), characters you want to know, and he makes you want to fall in love all over again. I hope more of this author's books are out there because my wife and I are waiting for them. I was only disappointed once: when the book ended! We're glad friends told us about this novel. You will be, too.

FAST READ, DIDN'T WANT IT TO END
Richard
Chicago (10/4/2003)

Okay, when's the sequel coming? You can't just stop with Tom and Sandi there. If anybody reads these reviews, if your looking for a great read--fast, vivid, illuminating, a real page-turner--then here's your book. I felt like I was there in Luray, with Tom (and all the rest) ALL THE TIME! And if that Wild Bill character is based on a real guy, I've got to meet him. Ed Buhrer writes about people: they are real, their speech is real, and you actually care about them. This author says it all the way it ought to be said. Great book and I want the sequel fast!

A must read
Mary Beth
Virginia, USA (9/24/2003)

Luray is captivating, enjoyable, hilarious, honest, and heart-warming. I was stuck between wanting to read it in one sitting and not wanting it to end. The characters were easy to love (especially Tom). It’s the mark of a great novel when the reader feels like she is a part of the story line and she becomes emotionally involved. The technique he used to depict the way people from Luray speak was brilliant; the country dialect really completed Becky’s character. His portrayal of the Blue Ridge was so descriptive that I could picture the great mountains rising against the amber sky as Tom spent most of his evenings enjoying the last remnants of the day on his back porch. I can honestly say that I enjoyed every word of this novel.

What a Return!
Catherine
Ohio (8/21/2003)

Hi. I lived in Luray for almost a year when I worked at a local radio station, so when I was searching your site for a new book to read in the "romance" section, the name "LURAY" leaped out at me. I am very glad it did. Although it's less about Luray (the town) than I had hoped, the multiple plots and themes more than made up for that. I found the love story believable for a change, got a look into what the life of a young teacher is, and like some of the other readers, got hungry and smiled a lot. Although I found myself crying in two or three places. The author has a unique style in that his characters actually "sound" like people talking and what people actually say! His description is very, very good--excellent would be a better word--and I recognized parts of Luray and Page County; found myself saying "I know where that is!" or "I've been there!" Hope Ed has more novels in him. Next time on PA's site, I will be looking for "Ed Buhrer" instead of "romance." I have already bought two copies of this for family. Loved it!

A few words about LURAY
Rich
Jersey (8/19/2003)

I'm a man of few words. Wife and I read the novel. She knows the author, I don't. Great book. What else is there to say? Read the novel and you'll have your own words to say about it. Best thing I've read in four or five years. Okay, that's it.

I LOVED IT, SO WILL YOU!!
Erin
New York (8/19/2003)

I could NOT put the novel down. The characters are charming (except for the ones you hate or pity, maybe), the descriptive detail is just right, not overly wordy but very vivid, the plots all come together in the end and there are a few delightful surprises, at least for me. As the novel opens and closes, you get the choice of visiting or staying in LURAY (both the novel and the town) and I wanted to stay, just like Tom, the narrator. So will you. If you like a believable and sensually warm love story, an insight into teaching, and some intrigue, read this novel. I'm going to get my own copy; if I can't stay in LURAY, I'm damn sure going back to re-visit it some time in the future! Great book, Ed!

BLUE RIDGE HIGH (sequel to LURAY)

Laughs, Love, Passion and Pasta!
Mike
Virginia (4/7/2005)

This is absolutely a novel for a lot of readers. The food is appetizing, the plots are tantalizing, and the love and sex is sizzling. The best part is how real is all is, from the characters to their speech to the way the author makes you a part of the setting and the action. Do I sound like I liked the novel? You betcha! Hope Ed has more in store.

Hadda Buy It!
Mike
Pennsylvania (3/4/2005)

A friend of mine loaned me LURAY. I read it in three hours because I couldn't put it down, so when this one came out and the same buddy told me about it, I bought my own copy. I couldn't put this one down, either, until I found myself on the last page. I don't know which novel I liked better. I guess I liked them both equally (actually, "liked" is an understatement)since they're really one long story with the same great characters, detailed description, and humor, although I laughed a lot harder with this one and those outrageous school tales. I could read anything by Ed Buhrer and I surely hope he has more coming. How he manages to do a novel and still teach English (of all things!) amazes me. I bet his students know how to write, too. Gimme more, Ed!

High on BLUE RIDGE HIGH
Kristen
Charleston, SC (2/22/2005)

A friend told me about this author so I took a chance on the book, since the price was a bit steep, but my friend was so ecstatic about the novel and the author's first book that I said "What the heck" and bought it. I wasn't disappointed, although I wish the novel was three times as long, not because it should have been but because I didn't want it to end, at least the parts about Sandi and Ronnie. The way Ed Buhrer writes made me feel I was IN the book! I hope more is coming from him.

Oh, Yeah!
Beth
California (2/17/2005)

Sigh! Where can I find a guy like Tom? I know, I can go back and read this again, right after this author's first book arrives and I read that first! This book was listed under "romance" but it's got a lot more than that to it. I had to put the book down a couple times because I was laughing so hard at the school stories (especially the one about the boys' lavatory smokers), I've already made Pasta Amatriciana, and I often thought that I was in the actual story. The romances (even Ronnie and Mark's) made me remember what it was like to have been that young and that much in love. The detail in the description was fantastic. If I never get to Virginia, I will still know what it's like there in the spring. This is a novel for everyone. Thanks, Ed. Hope they make a movie out of this! If they don't, I've got it filmed in my head already.

THE COVER WAS RIGHT!
Greg
Scranton, PA (2/14/2005)

If you read the back cover, it says that you won't be sorry you read this book. You won't be sorry! This novel has it all: realism, interest, great detailed description, even some food to make you hungry. My wife already made that marinara sauce and cut up the garlic that way! The plot twists had me hanging (my wife says all this goes for her, too). I loved the "dictionary" definitions on the first page. Three cheers and an extra-large pizza for Ed Buhrer.

I know Ed's characters!!
RayJo
New Hampshire (2/10/2005)

Ed Burhrer does a great job of capturing the everyday conversations that take place in today's high schools. As I read my way through this wonderful novel, the dialogue he created for his characters had me laughing out loud. By the end of the book, I felt as if his characters were my best friends. Ed has created another great book. Great job!!

Happy...Happy? Yes!
Catherine
Ohio (2/3/2005)

I am SO happy that Ed Buhrer decided to write a sequel to LURAY. I loved the first one and I think I loved this one even more. It's really hard to tell. This one had me sighing and smiling about Tom and Sandi's growing relationship and then the bullets come whizzing in. Oops, better not give too much away or people will be mad at me! Great read that (again) I couldn't put down. Great character development, great food (again), surprising plot angles, and REAL people in a beautifully described place. He took me back to spring in the Blue Ridge in that one chapter. I loved it, absolutely loved it! As I think I said in my review of LURAY, I hope more is coming. Thanks, Ed. And I love your Camaro! If you're ever in Ohio....sigh!

WHAT--AGAIN?!
ARNIE
OREGON (2/3/2005)

I'M GLAD I KEPT CHECKING TO SEE IF ED BUHRER WAS GOING TO PUT OUT ANY MORE NOVELS. AND WHAT A TREAT THAT THE NEXT ONE IS A SEQUEL. I CAN'T SAY IF I LIKED ONE MORE THAN THE OTHER. LIKE ONE BIG STORY, MAYBE. ACTUALLY, I LOVED BOTH OF THEM. MORE GREAT CHARACTERS, MORE UNEXPECTED PLOT TWISTS, MORE GREAT FOOD AND SUPER VIVID DESCRIPTION (AGAIN!) KEEP THEM COMING, ED, AND I'LL KEEP READING THEM. THANKS.

Another One to Enjoy!
Ted and Jana
Connecticut (1/25/2005)

Keep them coming, Ed! The same friends who told us about LURAY tipped us off to the release of BLUE RIDGE HIGH and we (wife and I)were not disappointed in the sequel. Great new stories, funny as hell classroom stuff, good subplots, and MORE FOOD! Loved everything. Jana says "Keep writing!' and so do I!

FOR GLORIA, WHEREVER YOU ARE

A Slice of Life, A Slice of Time
Steven Maine (8/8/2007)

Friend of mine bought me this novel because he had the author years ago as his "best" teacher. Even though it was thick, I figured it was just "a book by a teacher." WRONG! This is a novel by someone who understands the angst of growing up, the pain of falling in love when you don't know anything about it, the pain of having parents who don't understand any of it and have forgotten if and when they were ever teenagers themselves. It also captures the time period (late 50's) and has ALOT of humor in it. I found myself laughing out loud frequently. I also found tears in my eyes but not from laughing. This is a GREAT novel and it ought to be a film. I have already ordered Ed Buhrer's first two novels. Bravo!

What a Great Title!!!
Gloria, of course
Colorado (10/27/2006)

And the novel was even greater. I had to buy this because (1) my name is GLORIA, and (2) the description caught my interest. Great read, lots of humor mixed with a lot of poignant moments. Reminded too much (at times) of my own lost love from high school. Hope he finds this novel and reads it, too, although our separation was caused by factors not as bittersweet as Eddie and Gloria's. I hope the real "Gloria" gets her hands on this. Great story. I have already ordered the author's other two novels.

Great Read!
Ernie
North Carolina (7/20/2006)

Got a tip from a co-worker about this author and his latest novel. Great story with real people who sound and act like real people. I had to loan it to my dad, who graduated in 1962, right about the time this book takes place. He said it brought back great memories, even though he's never been in New Jersey. Well, I was never in the early Sixties, either, but after reading this, I feel like I have been. I wonder if GLORIA will ever read this because I don't think there's too much "fiction" in this. Hope she does. Anyway, my dad also said he wants to read more books by Ed Burher. I do, too.

A TIMELESS PIECE ABOUT LOVE AND GROWING UP

Mary, 'I am, therefore I think.', 12/22/2006

A friend bought me this because he had the author for a teacher. After I had it sitting on my end table for about three months, I finally picked it up, wondering 'A teacher? How good could it be?' Well folks, this is a great book, alive with all the stuff that we all went through in high school and more. I didn't like the ending, but only because it WAS the ending. Even though it's close to 500 pages long, it read fast and I didn't want it to end there. I hope there's a sequel.

Great Read, Greater Memories

Beth, a very critical reader, 09/11/2006

Well, I've read all of them now, Ed, and they just keep getting better and better (although if I had to pick my favorite, it would be very hard). Like the others, real people in real situations, all speaking real words. I found myself alternating between laughing out loud and wiping my eyes. The ending was so damn bittersweet. Like she said, 'teenage hearts are meant to be broken.' Brought back a lot of memories for me, even though the author and I are a good two decades apart in terms of growing up. Keep 'em coming, please!

Take Me Back, Please!

Billy, hoping this becomes a film., 08/10/2006

If you have ever been in love, especially in those heady, lost, and confusing days of adolescence, then this novel will keep you reading and wishing you could go back, even with all the heartbreak that love that young includes. This really reminded me of A SEPARATE PEACE, with the flashback format and the love story, even if the Gene-Finny thing was more of a friendship story. I had to wonder if the girl's real name was Gloria, and if she's still out there, whether she will find a copy of this in her hands someday. Anyway, it made me remember a girl in my own life back in high school and caused me to wonder what life would have been like if I hadn't let her go. Thanks, Ed Buhrer.

Need help with writing or language usage?

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Need help editing, revising, checking for correct grammar and punctuation? With five published novels and 35 years of teaching high-school and college English and composition, I can help. I can also supply you with practice exercises in all aspects of language usage. You answer, I correct -- kind of like the teacher I once was until three years ago. I charge a modest $30 an hour and I work fast, not like your lawyer…or plumber…or electrician.

Contact at ebuhrer@verizon.net or (540) 967-2273 before 6 PM.

Ed’s books – available somewhere…

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QUOTE FOR TODAY

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"Fleas can be taught nearly anything that a Congressman can." - Twain