Yes, Virginia, I am a vegetarian.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, family, food, health, humor, life
You know what’s hard? Yoga. You know what’s harder than that? Trying to explain yoga to your precious family of aging Southern Baptists. Because if it’s not explicitly typed in the King James version of the Holy Bible then it’s most likely of the devil, who probably created yoga to trick Christians into performing exercises that would get them into positions they couldn’t get out of, thus holding them in place so he could catch them. But, yoga is a later issue. First, we have to address a more pressing item, though there are several items overall, not the least of which is the fact...
I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
I’ve never had a mullet, and other Things I Can Brag About [...]*
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, family, food, humor, life, writing
![Link to I’ve never had a mullet, and other Things I Can Brag About [...]*](http://cleverkris.com/wp-content/themes/psm/scripts/timthumb.php?src=http://thecleverkris.com/files/2009/11/kris-jazzes-up2-150x150.jpg&h=250&w=250&zc=1)
* The full, real title is I've never had a mullet, and other Things I Feel I Have the Right to Brag About and also Things I Cannot Stand. Just, you know, FYI. You should know that what follows is a) a partial list only, and b) they’re not in any particular order of Cannot Stand vs. Brag. I would say to put your Big Boy Panties on and read carefully, but it’s odd how similar the things I can’t stand and the things I want to brag about actually are. I’m not sure what that says about me, but anyway – to be safe –...
“That’s not lying,” he said, “That’s good manners.”
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, family, humor, language, life, theatre, writing
Of all the hobbies I have, I most enjoy lying and eavesdropping. Because I, personally, like a hobby that's a challenge. And both of these are. It is not so easy to lie, as you might think. The closer you are to someone the craftier you have to be. But, I like that. I've always been good at crafts, thanks to Vacation Bible School. Ask U.L. He’s kept every single thing I ever made at VBS, with the exception of that frightening plastic Jesus-on-the-cross-shaking-hands-with-PawPaw objet d’art I made, when I was six. I don’t blame him for that, though; it’s difficult to know how long...
The table of Christian Things.
Filed under: Deep South, education, Everyday, faith, humor, life, theatre
On some mornings, as I’m entering the Town That Was, aka Scooba, I have a small (though at one time it was) visual delight, usually, to my right, just as I bump over the railroad tracks, situated all alone in front of what may very well be a defunct fire station. And this is what my small (though at one time it was) visual delight consists of: a faded tent, no doubt purchased “as is,” from some desperate funeral home, I imagine. Beneath the tattered green fabric sits a cheap a la Fred’s-Giving-Away-the-Store-again! plastic table precariously atop four brittle fold-out legs. Adorning this table is a...
Suffice it to say, I was spanked, a second time, OR The 100th Blog.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, life, writing
I didn’t get spanked, as a child…much.
U.L. didn’t really believe in that, unless you’d done some really horrendous thing, which I never truly did because God, you know, also rented a room at U.L.’s house, and so it was really hard to get away with much of anything between the two of them. And then there was Jesus. He was always like, Hey, we'll fix it later. I liked him the most. I hated that he moved out.
I’m not saying I never got spanked, kids being kids, but I tried really hard to be a good boy. And, for the most...
I would have prayed, but I had to merge.
This morning, as I made my way down the Trail of Tears to the town of Scooba, I passed a man in a reddish-shall-we-say-bleeding-into-burgundy Chevy Aveo...reading a book. While he drove. We were heading into that infamously, always congested section of highway right outside a town, or village, or tribe, known simply by the wooden staked sign, signaling both the start and the end of what appears to be a mostly dirt road, bearing the mysterious name of Wahalak. For some reason, and I feel that voodoo has a large part to do with it, they simply cannot get this portion of the road...
Am I merely a heathen, now? Is that what this heartburn is indicating?
I don't want to write this blog. I really don't. (Of course, I'm going to, but still...you should know that I don't really want to). I don't want to write it because it's going to force me to seriously consider the points I'm about to make, or attempt to. Points that are more than likely going to be offensive, both about myself and the culture I live in...and probably to one or two of you, at the least. I like God, let me just say that, upfront. I even like Jesus. I don't know when the last time was that I...
God had given him one-half of His Own Right Eye.
[I like to pretend I'm writing my memoirs, all of them at the same time, and so this is an excerpt from my second memoir, entitled The Deer in the Road. Feel free to edit, as you go along. Just don't let Amanda know.] On the outside looking in, I had a tragic childhood, I know, I’ve read that…but that’s only the way the story goes. It has a whole different feel, when it's told. The truth is I had a very conventional upbringing, for the most part, and it included a lot of church. I was brought up by a great uncle, who was also...
"And I said, Well, excuse me, I didn't know you had a copyright on the bow tie."
Now, you may not believe this, but I really do try very hard to be nice, to be kind, to be a friend, to be polite, etc. It's just that I have a great deal of trouble sometimes in doing anything even remotely nice, or kind, or friendly, or polite, etc. And sometimes, it's not even really my fault. It isn't. It's just that I'm, every now and again, a tiny beat behind the music. I'm not even sure I hear any music, so God bless my poor little drummer. Of course, I don't hear very well, either, and I know that doesn't...
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