January 2004: The Five-Day Cider War
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I've just about decided that there's nothing that karaoke can't fix. If it can train a Sicilian and a Southerner to live together, in harmony, then at the next G8, or G12, G+number, Summit...we need to hire Disco Dan, or Happy Butch to grab their mic stands and their CDs. I resisted this, what to me, was merely a bar-room, nocturnal, alcohol-fueled passtime, for many years. I felt that I couldn't possibly degrade myself, a real singer, I thought to myself, to such a ridiculously low-level thirst for spotlight attention. Ah, but what a little spotlight can do. With my brief second tenure in Indiana, I...
You can go home again…it's just frustrating.
Thomas Wolfe wrote, "You can't go home again." (At least, I think he did). But you know what: you can. I do it every Sunday. Mainly because I don't want to miss Nana's cooking; it's in a class of its own...and I love going home, I do, but you want to know a secret: It's also quite often very aggravating. Why is that? Why is going home such a frustrating experience? Sometimes, I think, it's because as soon as I open that front door and step inside, I'll see that nothing has changed, and I'll feel like I haven't changed either. And I hate that feeling. Despite...
…tomatoes who show no pity.
I'm trying to go green, but the cats won't stay out of my small, slightly ergonomically designed box garden. I've considered several ways to get rid of them: BB guns (but that's hardly a green attitude); a tin pie pan tied to a 2x4 (but that would ruin the aesthetic); placing lime, lemon, and orange rinds around the exterior (my fading grandmother with all her southern gentility and, now, senility, swears this is a feline deterrent - I'm highly doubtful and so have yet to choose this option); or simply leaving Max in the yard (he's a 100+ pound white German...
The Crawdad Convo Back Slap, and how to recognize it.
So, for some reason, lately, I really don't know why, I find myself seeking out these, elements of personality, shall we say, that I disapprove of in others. I have no reason to saddle this high horse; god knows, I irritate people...rarely, of course, but still, I'm sure I do. I guess it's just one of those things we can keep to ourselves (minus the blog) and morally hold over others in our private opinions? Except our best of best friends and anyone who sits too close to us at the bar...anyway, that part's not fun; who really cares why? Let's...
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