Or, in layman’s terms, a fist.
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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,...
“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...
It doesn’t matter because we’re eating Chinese food.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, food, life, writing
Nothing irks me quite the way getting a bum Chinese fortune cookie does. And I love me a good Chinese fortune cookie. I live for them; I just don’t eat them – in case they come true. The only reason I frequent any Chinese buffet, though, even the one in Dekalb, is for the sole purpose of receiving, $9.00 later, that little baked, folded, American invention we call the Chinese fortune cookie. I guess there’s a little of Ya Ya in me, after all. Because of her, I reserve a small portion of my spirituality for the sake of superstition. It’s fun. And she taught...
I’d like to introduce you to the word “hingent.”
Filed under: End of the World, Everyday, food, language, life, writing
I have a confession to make. I wasn't all that "sold on" what I wrote yesterday. It didn't, how shall I say this without hurting my feelings, make a whole lot of sense. I've spent most of this morning trying to be OK with it because every day can't be a diamond. Indeed, most of them are just broken pieces of coal. But, but...that, that's OK. The whole point of starting a blog was to give myself room to make writer's mistakes with the option of accountability, depending on how many read the blog and felt the need to comment. I'd fallen into a rut, as a playwright and...
"The magic stops here," She said.
I've decided I'm not legitimate until I get a business card. The kink in that plan is that no one has told me who the person is that purchases them for you. That's the way it rolls in Academia. String after string after string all tied to some alleged piece of paper that started the whole trail...probably back in the last 1950s. The thing you don't find out until later is that sometimes it's not even really a piece of paper. It's a person. Or a piece of a person. And it's quite an ingenious plan. I've certainly never seen the person, the...
It takes a Village and Xanax: Tacoma Tales, Part 1
Things I remember about Tacoma, and its people: 1) it's not Seattle; 2) I had to fly on a plane to get to it; 3) they fully believe in a Farmer's Market - despite the fact that, in my estimation, there were probably only two or three actual farmers at the market; 4) they want everywhere you turn to be something worth looking at; 5) so, that means there's a lot of random art and sculptures everywhere; 6) Sundays are just as dead there as here, and 7) did I mention I had to fly on a plane...
I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron.
I think "nice flip-flops" is an oxymoron. That's what I said to Amanda, last night, after the show. She'd brought a group of our professor friends to see my play, and afterwards, as is the normal routine and course for our social troupes, we ambled over next door to the Old Venice Pizza Company, the neighborhood bar and grill, and I stood patiently accepting kudos and the like, something I don't always enjoy doing because it seems so impratically rote, but I endure it all the same - I mean, I was brought up right. All the while, though, I was staring at the Pinot Grigio selections. I was reminded...
Good in the kitchen and with chicken snakes.
For twelve days I've been a vegetarian. Mostly. Erin said what I really am (she's an authentic, bona fide vegetarian) was a pescatarian. Which sounds similar to a Christian denomination. But, mainly, it means I am 90% real vegetarian, and 10% fake-out: I allow myself fish, eggs, dairy, etc. I have a great need for smoked salmon, on occasion. I'm not trying to drag anyone along with me on this dietary sojourn (although twelve days is a little less than temporary), but as I cook all the meals in the house, Amanda might not have much of a choice. Well, except where the...
Every gas station in Georgia is like a mini-casino.
I was ready to go the minute I woke up. For two reasons: I was ready for a road trip, first of all; also, I'm rather moody, and I am completely helpless about it. One second I'm the life of the party, and the next, I want a small closet with no windows and a fur coat to roll around in, and a really filthy martini in an oversized glass without the garnish unless they stuff the olives with blue cheese. I guess I get it from my mother's side. We were coming to Atlanta for a wedding. Well, actually I was coming to...
All they could do was "talk the fire out."
Part of my nightly ritual is calling U.L., checking in with him before I go to bed. He's a very nervous and worried man, and has a slight addiction to mayonnaise, like the rest of us in Mississippi, despite believing that it causes him great anxiety. It's gotten a little better now that he's on his "nerve pill." Which took every preacher south of God to convince him to take. This side of my family is very old, very superstitious, maybe a little Christian Scientist but registered as Southern Baptist... And it never fails that each night our phone conversation goes a little...
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