You know what they say about big ears…
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Yesterday, while at lunch—Chinese buffet, the temptation never dies, does it?—I overheard a table a few booths away talking. They were replaying, in conversation, a blow-by-blow of what they’d done earlier that morning: sledding. It doesn’t snow here the way it does “up north.” The threat of a half-inch closes down most businesses and schools. We’d gotten several inches, actually. And they had gone sledding. And they were talking about it. One guy said, “Yeah, I hit you pretty hard.” Another guy said, “Yeah, you did.” They laughed at that. Then, said the exact same thing again, using different words, and laughed again. From where I sat,...
Copycats are amazing listeners.
I’m not taking any illegal drugs, let me just get that out in the open, right off the bat. And I don’t think my diet has changed all that significantly, though I’ve graduated from Grade A, Farm Fresh, Organic Vegetarian to Fine-I’ll-Eat-Fish-anarian. But, something is making me have crazy, exhaustive dreams, as of late. It’s not the first time I’ve had crazy dreams, but rather, it is the first time I’ve had a regular string of them. I’m going on Week 3, now. Which makes for 21 nights of what can truly be called dreams of “complete abandon.” I’ve been shot twice, lately;...
Once upon a time, I went to Michigan, again.
What I remember most about my recent trip to Michigan—though, there’s a part of me that would like to tell you what happened at the casino in Saganing, but it’s too soon—is the fact that I counted nineteen dead raccoons along the highway in a single two-hour ride from Lansing to a lakeside neighborhood outside an almost undetectable town called West Branch. Well, I remember that and also this: I discovered fried green peas. They were at a small grocery store known as Jay’s, which was next to an auto plaza known as Carl’s, which was just down the road from...
What happens when you’re late to the boat.
Most of the time, I have the best of intentions. A week into the oil devastation that now ravages our gulf coast, and I’d already registered my name with the Audubon Society as an eager volunteer, ready to give up his summer for the clean-up cause. That oil devastation, as you may know, is now going on Day 34, I believe. Or over a month, whichever sounds worse. This past weekend, though, I found myself in Biloxi, smack dab in the middle of Mississippi’s manmade coastline…and I didn’t clean up a thing. I didn’t have to. Now, it wasn’t entirely a planned trip. We’d...
There’s no “I” in Verizon. Oh, wait, Yes there is.
I’m going to tell you why I believe in karma: chewing gum. I have never, believe me, ever been one to litter. I don’t like it. I find it tacky, low-class, and uneducated of people to throw trash along streets, highways, and front yards. I’m sure some of this has to do with the near religious obsession U.L. and I had with his own front yard, when I was growing up. The first beer can I ever saw was face-down in his bed of calla lilies, the ones that sat out near the end of the driveway. People threw trash in the...
This is a sappy blog, and it was well overdue.
The last good day I had was back in 1994, in October, on a Thursday afternoon. I was in line at McDonald's waiting for a milkshake, and the man in front of me turned around and gave me $15 because he liked my smile. That is an absolute lie. I have no record of good days versus bad days. I just try to get through them, either way. Like the rest of the herd. I was reared by a bona fide cynic. I got it honest. Our world view was as follows: Bad day…well, at least, it’s only got 24 hours to live....
Excuse me, did you just call me a fad?
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, life
I learned what the meaning of fad was the hard way. And I don’t just mean having to look it up in a dictionary. Since, I come before the mandatory use of home computers. I had a personal encounter with the word. It’s surprising, though, what one’s personal history of fads says about oneself. For me, in retrospect, my string of passing fancies was equivalent to that annoying solid beep of an emergency broadcast—“ in the event of an actual emergency, contact information will be provided.” That second part there, that never happened. Some of my “interests” were rather unique to me and me alone....
A word about lesbians…
Filed under: Deep South, education, faith, family, humor, life
So, Mississippi’s made the news, again. Have you heard? Itawamba County’s School Board has decided to cancel the local high school’s prom because one student, a lesbian, wanted to wear a tuxedo and bring her girlfriend as her date. Of course, the media is licking its chops, I’m sure, over this newest political deep-fried Panic Button. All the more so because it’s straight from the Heart of Dixie, also known as the Buckle of the Bible Belt. It was only a little more than a decade ago, wasn’t it?, when we were splayed across the nation’s newsrooms (again, the culprit being North...
That, right there, is what you call a “teachable moment.”
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, humor, life
In one of my flippant, wine-accompanied, philosophical moments, the other night, I found myself saying, “Well, if it’s possible, it’s necessary.” It just fell out. You know, I was standing around, my mouth was open, and then, Boom. There it was, a whole sentence, a sentiment of ontological bent, floating around the room. Now, I usually say things for two reasons: Either I like the way it sounds (which is a sort of philosophy in and of itself), or I’m not aware of what I’m saying (which is more often the case). Of course, far be it from me to retract a statement....
Nothing but the blood: GamVa.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, humor, life
So, keeping with my character sketches, how about I talk a little about the “partly-fictionalized” portion of my family tree? There are quite a few branches there to be sure, of mismatched friends and who-not I’ve come to claim as family, but it starts further down, at the root, and trust me, it is one hell of a strong one. Her name is GamVa. Short for Grandma Virginia. Who isn’t actually my grandmother. She’s not even really related to me. Not even a little bit. But that doesn’t make her any less “blood” in my eyes. She’s been as indelible a mark in my...
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