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,...
Or, in layman’s terms, a fist.
I’m guessing you’ve never thought about this before, and until recently, it had been ages since it’d crossed my mind, but I’m going to ask you anyway: What kind of finger-pointer are you? I’m not sure how, but I think it’s probably very important that we ask ourselves this and learn how knowing what type of finger-pointer we are unconsciously dictates our lives. I was first brought to the attention of the power of the finger not, as you might imagine, by a rude driver showing me his emotional state caused by my “granddaddy” style of driving along our nation’s roadways. No,...
First things first…
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, humor
One thing that seems universal to all children is the idea of what it means to be first. It doesn’t matter at what they’re being the first, either. Being first carries within it all the intended glory necessary. First to sit still, first to get a haircut, first to touch base during hide-and-seek, first to finish dinner. Endless possibilities. My nephews, this past Sunday, case in point, were running neck-and-neck, outside, racing each other from one side of the yard to the other, simply for the bragging rights of saying, “I beat you. I got here first.” Wynn Chandler, the baby who...
Because that’s what beards are meant for: hiding fat.
I’ve decided that I’m allergic to my facial hair. And that, in and of itself, is an odd thing to know about myself, because for years I couldn’t stand facial hair. Not a goatee, not a moustache, not the hint of a 5 o’clock shadow. It seems that, without even realizing it, though, that I’ve changed my mind on the issue. Out of nowhere it seems I sprouted a full beard, and kept it. Until it started itching, and I had no choice but to shave it. When I did, I realized why I’d allegedly grown one in the first place: I was fat. Somehow,...
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....
When I grow up, I want to be a box of crayons.
I’d like to share with you the conversation I had with a man from Maintenance, on campus, this morning, hardly an hour and a half ago. Let me set the scene, for you: I’m teaching my Theatre Appreciation class, which is held each Monday and Wednesday morning in the small theatre studio, a few rooms down from my office. I’m in the middle of my lecture, standing in front of several large benches, set pieces for our upcoming production. My back is both to the door and the darkened stage. One of my students, who insists on being called Poonie May, suddenly...
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....
“I’m the freaking boss of TV, just so you know.”
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, family, humor
I’ve made no little secret about the fact that growing up, as I did, the television was not the center of the universe. Not in our house. It was carefully guarded: it and all its wonders of delicious and suggestive programming. The only television station that I was allowed to watch, almost entirely on my own and un-chaperoned, was good, old PBS. And, oh, how I watched it: Letter People, Clyde the Frog, Voyage of the Mimi, and one of my all-time faves, Read All About It. Even learning, early on, how to convince U.L. that some shows were appropriate—How could they...
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