I try not to abuse the privilege of a horn.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, family, humor, life
I like to think I’m a good guy. I know I’m not, but still…it’s nice to pretend. Heck, every now and then I even convince myself. I do try and go through the motions, you know, on a fairly regular basis: being nice, opening doors for the elderly, picking up the random piece of stray litter, speaking when spoken to, lending a dollar on occasion, offering gum…you get the picture. I try and do these things with some consistency. However, there is a very real part of my Daily Routine in which I flat-out, no-holds-barred hate people. And that part is driving. I absolutely hate...
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 –...
For Lora…
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, family, humor, life
I’ve been very fortunate to have remarkable women in my life. Blessed, above and beyond, I have to say; you certainly should be very jealous of me for this. You should be so jealous in fact that you stop reading this and immediately pull up a separate Word document and begin typing out your own list of names. Because, I have no doubt, you could list several remarkable women yourself. As a matter of fact, I think this is exactly what you should do. Go on. I’ll give you five minutes. I’m more than happy to wait for five minutes, don’t worry. Five minutes later… Believe it or...
I’m made of sterner stuff than common sense, I’ll have you know.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, language, life, theatre, writing
I used to get frustrated when I'd be cast in a play, an old one written back, say, in the 1920s, a la Glaspell or O'Neill, and halfway through the play I'd come to one of my lines: "Egads, Helen! Don't do that with your teeth! The zipper's fine." Or... "Eureka! Eureka! I've unlocked the secret code. Now, the children may eat." I hated that type of diction. It was always difficult for me to comprehend who in the world would ever actually say these things. Even harder still when one of the words had a repeat. I had no idea how to even say these words. That is...until today. Today...
I was able to order my fish sandwich without incident.
I can no longer ignore the inevitable because Wednesday, June 24, is fast approaching. And that is the day in which I must board a plane. And fly to Memphis, in which, I will get off one plane and onto another one...and head to Tacoma. A city in a state so far away from here that it might as well not even be a part of the United States. Few other things make me as defensive or difficult as flying. Because I'm so afraid of it. Not just because I'm mean. Flying is something that I can safely hate. I become neurotic, distraught, maybe even mean...I'm...
I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
I know how to get a blame Diet Coke, thank you.
I'm trying to steer myself clear of Diet Coke. I'm not sure when I began to drink it, actually. Now, I can't get through a day without several. I don't even particularly like the taste of it, to be honest. I guess it's just "what I do" before I teach class, to get in the "zone," with today's youth. I think that's what I tell myself: it's caffeine; you'll need that. These students have never lived without computer access. Email was "old-hat" by the time they were born. You've got to keep up with them. Caffeine is your friend. But, I rarely get the kick I need...
If you don't want to bleed for it, don't put it in your blood.
I had a terrifying thought, this morning, on the way to work: I'm afraid I might be a duplicitous man. Duplicitous. I used to think that described a man who had lots of love affairs. Would that it were true. But, driving out to campus, I really questioned what I, up until this morning, had believed was my emotional and physical elasticity when in the face of any crisis. Now, I wonder: what if all I've done is misunderstood what I thought was others' general defection of accountability because I'd mislabeled it in my own life? I hate this thought. I've hated it all...
That time I was in a Sartre play: part of a memoir, sort of.
I'm considering penning a memoir. I'm serious. I'm sure there's a finer art to it than what I'm putting to paper. No, I know there is as evidenced by PaperGirlMemoir's blog. I enjoy her blog, among several others, those detailing their writing journeys. I suppose she's serving as a "model," though she has a much better, cleaner handle on how to go about writing one than I do. I tend to ramble. (I'm pretending it's my style, so don't say anything). At first, I thought, why on earth would I think anyone wants to read a memoir by me. And then, I...
Lazarus and his "Transferring to the Banana."
To be quite honest about it, we'd forgotten about him entirely. We did our civic duty, after Max had attacked him, this poor little kitten, in our backyard. At first, we thought he was dead. But, Amanda, who was the brave one, stepping forward and retrieving him from Max's jaws, saw that he was breathing...barely. Breathing enough, however, that he was more than agile and able enought to bite Amanda solidly on her finger. Not long after, she found herself in the emergency room, receiving a Tetanus shot. You may recall that we were turned away from the Vet School at MSU, and abruptly sent to another Vet's...
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