In Las Vegas?????

No more grey haired pictures now.

I think it was B.B. Kings 16 Greatest Hits...a cassette. It was my Daddy's. I appropriated it...and the family tape recorder and played it everywhere I went...which, at this point in my life, was limited to the front and back yard.

This is the song that did it to me...I wrecked that part of the tape. Play, Rewind, Play, Rewind, Play...until I had every hiss memorized. Which was good cause I'd shredded it by then.



King was my Daddy's favorite and I remember one night as a small child being baby-sat so him and my Momma could go see him. It seemed like magic to me...that they could go and see a person from the records. I tried to imagine what it would be like.



Two years ago we were able to take The Boy to see him. It was a rough night on a four year old but, he made it long enough to hear King sing You Are My Sunshine...and that was long enough. It was priceless watching his face.


Keep an eye on your computer for this one...the first few minutes might melt your screen.

As a rule, I am loath to join in with moments of mandatory mourning but, King's music was an integral part of my childhood. As a corporate loss it's crushing, even if not shocking...you can't replace Southerners like this.

There is Another Side

Just to reiterate the ultimate point of my last post...

"Y'all sent me on this terrible bachelorette party and all I got was a snakebite."

 



I rest my case...you want surnames?

We know one of these fellas...in fact, the Boy has spent the night at the family's house.

DISCLAIMER: as I know it will be of great interest to many of our readers, not only were no snakes harmed during the filming but they're probably saving many non-poisonous snakes from being killed in the drive way. They deal directly, and question, the normal reaction that any sane person would have to seeing a snake...which is to kill it without a second thought...and suggest that it's an irrational response.

Sorry I'm just gonna confess here...I will kill them if I see them. I guess I'm a horrible person but I have been chased, have looked into the beady abyss and seen what a snake bite does to a human leg. The only way I'll grab a snake is with a shotgun.

I love the rowdiness and the decay that can be found from one end of Dixie to the other. It's not only beautiful but it makes an important statement about the impermanence of material and the foolishness of putting any faith in it. There is another side though.

There is a grandeur to The South that I am often guilty of ignoring here. There is the beauty of the dogwoods and azaleas, the magnolias and loblollies...and the live oaks. The unassailable taste and quaint manners...the old money beauty of it.

Nowhere is this side more gorgeously realized than during the Master's Tournament at Augusta National in Georgia.

Martha is, at this very moment, balling as Justin Spieth, this year's winner, hugs his Momma.

 

It is a cathedral...glorifying the natural beauty of The South and it is a celebration of it's gentile mores. Five dollars will still get you a pimento cheese sandwich...yelling "YOU DA MAN" or "IN DA HOLE" will still you get you an escort off the grounds. Mind you're manners...this is Georgia not the U.S. Open. This morning, Nick Faldo...that's Sir Nick Faldo to you, said that, off the course, it's the greatest sporting event in the world. "On the course," it's the greatest "by a mile."

 



There's a Thursday afternoon every year in the Spring when I have to fight back the tears. It's not just the overwhelming Southern Beauty of the place, though that does crush, but the memories I have with my Daddy and now with my son...being crouched around the TV (this hasn't changed despite the size of the TV and crispness of the picture) anxiously watching a putt hug the meticulous contours of a green, past the pink azaleas...through the shadow of a dogwood in bloom...watching, covering our faces, peaking....

EDIT...The Boy climbed up in my lap this morning while waiting for his momma to finish getting dressed. He wanted to see the Snakegrabber videos...he's pretty pumped about Mr. Brent...then he wanted see the video of Augusta. He said something about playin there....I would walk buck naked from here to Augusta if it meant getting to play just one hole. I asked him so..."you gonna play there one day."
He turned his head and looked at me, with the most serious expression he could muster..."I am going to win a green jacket." At this point I have no reason to doubt him.

I Lay There in Pain but I Love It.

Peter Sellers is still a Super Star in our house. Ironically...maybe poetically, it was his absentee role in Trail of the Pink Panther that solidified his status with the Boy. I have always loved him. First, because he made my Daddy laugh...put him in stitches. Being little, few things brought me more joy than watching him writhe around in his chair...gasping and cackling, hands on his stomach, eyes welling...and then the high pitched "haaaaaaw....ohhhhhh."

"Do you have a massage for me?" He'd repeat to himself and be right back in tears. Magic.

Of course, as I got older and the jokes began to reveal themselves...I had my own troubles staying upright. Older still and the complicated nature that he brought to those roles...the subtly he imbued them with...reveal an absolute genius. Clare Quilty in Kubrick's Lolita....



So sleazy....Him and Natasha Fatale there...it might be my favorite exchange of dialogue ever filmed. Then there's Dr. Strangelove. How easily could this character have spiraled out of control...even in capable hands.



When he grabs his right arm and pulls it forward to bring the wheelchair back around...just kills me.

As comedy it's brilliant but there's also something profound in the grotesque nature of it. Never mind the wicked things these old Nazis had done or the highly dubious use of them in the U.S. defense department...what must it have been like in the minds of these f****ers after 1945? Moody I reckon. They had literally sold their souls for a future that was never coming. What a demented existence. It's there in Seller's performance...without breaking the tone of the film, there's something horrifying in the absurdity. .

Just for giggles...he's also playing the president in that scene.

I guess his own existence was slightly demented. I hope some of that has been exaggerated. There's a ridiculous romance attached to the tortured artist, the sad clown but, of course, there's nothing romantic about mental anguish. He does seem to have been genuinely disturbed. Abusing the poppers and cocaine surely didn't help and four marriages would be enough to put anybody in early grave...never mind somebody with a lousy heart.

All of that's over now and what's left is a brilliant legacy...the Goon Show, The Mouse that Roared, Being There, The Magic Christian, I'm All Right Jack, etc...making my son giggle uncontrollably and my Daddy laugh until he cried. I love Peter Sellers...a genius that's all.

Fever Dream

 

The Fight Between Carnival and Lent - Bruegel

 

This was supposed to be a post about the third season of American Horror Story. Set in New Orleans...the writers, for the first time, take great pleasure in slaughtering some of the locals. Locals in the surrounding area...not New Orleans. They all have a kind of shallow affection for New Orleans...generic shots of the Quarter and St. Louis cemetery, vague Jazz notes...but don't have any interest in actually writing a character that would exist there. They do take great care in reconstructing cliché's of Southerners and ripping them limb from limb.

I couldn't get it written...couldn't get a video made...so, there's this. One note...I do not let the Boy talk to me like this...unless I am goading him. Which I was without mercy. Ha.

  

 

We'll try it again tomorrow.

 

Indignity

My Dignity.

Twinkle, Twinkle...Blah, Blah, Blah...EE. TEE. CEE.

Many of you have expressed your anxiousness to hear what else happened in Birmingham...and it makes me happy to know that y'all read. We will get to it, but first...

this.

There stands Jackson like a Stonewall

Every year around this time, for reasons known only to him, God abandons us and the atmosphere takes on a strange quality. I don't know how to describe it really...it's sharp and penetrating...kinda like when you reach for something in the ice box. The sky goes dirty grey. It goes on forever...like a month. Turrible.

This week was particularly bad. It got down to 14 degrees (-10c)...low enough to freeze water in pipes and blow the pressure valve on your hot water heater. I can't express how much I hate winter...hate the cold...hate coats, jackets, jumpers, sweat shirts...how I despise it busting in on my room in the garage.

Fortunately the previous owners left a big box of tiles under the heater...there were these fabulous high pitched accents to the crashing thud of dry wall.

So, that was fun.

Obviously it was very upsetting for The Boy and Herschel-Walker.

Speaking of upsetting...and I'm loath to even bring it up, but none of your Christmas presents to me have shown up. I know they're coming...I'm not brining this up to shame anybody. It's just I know y'all are anxious to hear what I think. Please know that I'm already appreciative but, I'm a little ashamed to say, it was with increasing anxiety that I've rushed to the mailbox every day the last few weeks...only to be disappointed. I know they're coming...I'm not complaining...my silence has not meant a lack of appreciation...they just haven't shown up yet.

While I'm complaining...that crap in France. It wasn't actually a distraction from blogging but, I'm so sick of these dickheads.

I've only gotten a glimpse of this nonsense once. It was at Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park. There was an American evangelist and a black fella that I think was British. As far as I can recall, it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Yeah...somebody was going to hell but I don't remember it being anti-Muslim or anything. Just the usual turn-so-you-don't-burn stuff.

Whatever it was...was too much for the swarthy fella next to me. I could see him gritting his teeth and sorta swaying...like pacing from the waste up...until he couldn't take it anymore...

"What do you expect from an American and nigger!"

There was some verbal rustling at that...no intelligible boos or shut ups...but that was the audible gist. This poor American girl next to me, when he said nigger, she caught a case of the vapors. I thought she was gonna pass out.

Then he was completely incensed. He started that pacing thing again and then snapped. He lunged for the black dude...burst right through the crowd in a rage but the crowd was having non of it. He was literally thrown back on to a walkway and escorted out of the park by a few biguns.

He just couldn't tolerate hearing what he didn't want to hear. Dick.

...

 



The final distraction came this weekend when me and the Big Man got in to a discussion about the punk rock...which led to me spending two days downloading Minutemen songs instead of writing.



Throw you lighters up for D.




Alright...back to our regularly scheduled reading and writing then.

Rain, Vomit...Pancakes and Rain. Part 1

Birmingham, Alabama...January 2nd, 2015

 

Dreary going out and violent coming back.

.
Follow the red patches down from Tuscaloosa to the bottom of the screen...me and the Big Man are between Livingston and York...at a gas station. In the dark.

Just as we passed Eutaw the bottom fell out...dropped liked an atom bomb. I had about a foot of visibility...and 20 miles to the next exit. I followed the red tail lights of the car in front of us as closely as I dared. You just don't know how people are going to react when they go blind...they will just stop...even on the interstate...or they'll pull off on the shoulder and suddenly you're not on the road anymore...with no where to go.  You wait for the car behind you, doing the same thing, to get up in your trunk.



I have spent my life on the interstates and highways of The South and the US. If I asked an actuary he would probably tell me I should be nervous every time I get behind the wheel at this point...but, it's one of the most comfortable places I can think of. Not Saturday night...not since I ignorantly climbed up on the Red Mountain Pass a few years ago have my nerves been that racked in a car. I had the Big Man on board...of course, he was passed out in the back.

Thank God...we fishtailed and slid our way to the next exit and a Chevron station.* It was a gathering of shell shocked drivers...soaked and bug-eyed. There were flash flood warnings, tornado warnings**...it was raining sideways, screaming through under the awning. The Big man just wanted a sandwich...a ham and cheese sandwich from the in store Subway.

"You want any mayonnaise or mustard?"

"No sir...just ham and cheese...and bread of course."

We weren't gettin' back on the road anyway...and I was just glad he was eating (more on that later). I just need a cup of coffee...but they didn't have any coffee cups...let that sink in...no coffee cups at a gas station. Then the lights went out!

"E'erybody stay where you at...Lock the doh," the girl barked from behind the counter.

Her first instincts were procedural...to protect the store's property and shield herself from any responsibility for it's loss. Then the lights flickered back on...and her better instincts kicked in. Standing elevated, like in a pulpit, looking down above the crowd gathered at the door...

"Man fu****** this...I gotsta go!"

"Daddy can I eat my sandwich in the car?"

As we went through the unlocked door, I heard her...

"No. No. You do not need to talk ugly to me."

Anyway that's what happens when the lights go out at the curb store. This is what happens when you steal...

 

Other than some spicy fried chicken from Popeye's...that was the trip back. The trip out began with a bag of candy corn. We'll get to all that...

 



...next.

 



 *Just so you know adamparsons...we filled up for 1.89 a gallon. Adamparsons has a fascination with our gas prices...he tracks 'em like a trainspotter.
 

*Tornado watch means the conditions are right for a tornado...tornado Warning means one has touched down in the area.

Alabamy Bound

Me and The Boy are Alabama bound but...we are not going to fetch our woman. She will be here at the house enjoying a few days without her mens. That's what she claims anyhow...we know better.

What woman really wants time to herself?

So while she's being miserable without us...me and The Boy and Daddy will be in Birmingham to watch the Gators play East Carolina. Despite another abysmal season the Gators managed to get an invite to a bowl...the glamorous Birmingham Bowl.

Alarms are set for 5am...we will be on the road by six. We'll be flying through Meridian by 7:00. You know Meridian Mississippi....ruthlessly brunt to the ground by the Yankees...home of Jimmy Rodgers.



Then on past Cuba...Livingston...Eutaw...to Tuscaloosa where we will be stopping to visit Bryant Denny Stadium .  I may have over sold that stop...as The Boy asked me about throwing the ball on the actual field.

Birmingham is next...and it's Art Museum which I can tell he's underestimating. Once he gets a look at a full suit of Samurai armor...we'll be fine. Besides the next stop is Full Moon ...so, even if he doesn't dig Ida Kolmeyer...

I know he'll dig the ribs.*

Just because...Knebworth**



* I know you rabbits don't care but trust me on this one....

**Skynyrd, of course, is not from Alabama but from the Jacksonville Fl. area...where my brother lives...where my Moma grew up...Gator territory.

The Great Storm of 1987

This weekend, with evidently nothing better to do, The Boy sat down to watch The Weather Channel feature...10 Worst Hurricanes Ever! A certain curiosity with these things is to be expected around here.

A very pregnant Martha next to a downed live oak after tornadoes in 08.

 

Hurricanes are a regular feature of this part of the country and when they come they dominate the news...and they are featured events in people's lives and a recurring topic of conversation. Of course, a storm has to be a real monster to reach Jackson as a hurricane. Katrina managed it at Category 2.

The view from our driveway in Spring of 08.

 



The most direct threat for us is tornadoes. There were two (edit:make that five) yesterday down around Hattiesburg. So interest in severe weather is natural. He's a little obsessed though. This is Martha's doing but we shame her here...at least not at Christmas time.

Anyway, after watching the show and after 800 more questions about Katrina, he has begun to fixate on the Great Storm of 1987...a Hurricane (like?) storm in England has struck him as very curious and he's telling everybody about it and then asking questions. Like I said :coughMarthacough: he's got some weather issues.

I told him I knew where we could get some answers....Q.



No that didn't help (well it helped me..to force coffee through my nasal cavity...my favorite of the weather forcasts). I told him I'd ask y'all about. Anything you can convey about your own experience with the Storm will be passed on an much appreciated.

And Merry Christmas y'all.


Ice Cream taste better when you got no 'lectricity...and when you're pregnant.

Bloody Mary

The cops are already patrolling the neighborhood.  Probably looking for me...

Justin Bieber.

Tonight's the night our neighborhood is over run with little punks...little punk-ass, demanding, will eye-cuss you if you run out of candy, bumble bees, princesses, cowboys and...

We live out of the way...there's no through traffic so we get kids from all around the area. Kids and their parents drunk driving tricked out golf carts, at two miles an hour, with 10 kids hangin' off the back...like the last boat outta Saigon. They are voracious for the candy...little fiends.

I'm ready for 'em this year though...







I mean...I'm ready for 'em this year....

Update:

 



Post-structuralist Halloween?

The kid in the Mississippi State uniform insisted that he was Dak Prescott...the all-world quarterback for MSU...he did not acknowledge the Bat Man mask he was wearing.

 



Looks like the real zombie problem is in England...Lancashire to be more specific. Lock your doors y'all....there's an adamparsons on the loose.

Frankie and The Boy

The Boy wanted to know why the Scottish lady didn't want her daughter shooting a bow and arrow.

"The mother doesn't think girls can shoot bows and arrows...only boys should do that."

Honestly, I really don't know what the cartoon mother thinks...I haven't seen it. I'm just guessing.

"Well that's stupid girls can shoot bows and arrows...I saw it in the movie."

Here we're still inside the logic of the cartoon...for all we know, at this point, girls shouldn't be shooting bows and arrows. It's a damn cartoon. So...

"What you want is a girl that's pretty and likes princesses and purple and all that stuff you hate...but, she's tough too...and she can shoot a bow and arrow."

That seemed pretty good to me. I'm 35 years older than this kid. I've been married for 16 years...what do I know?  He filled in the details for me..

"What you need is a girl that will fight the po-leese for you. That's what you need."

I've never been prouder to be a Daddy...even the first time I was able to push of one of my chores off on him, I wasn't this proud.

"Hahah....yeah. Just make sure you mind your manners with a girl like that."

Bop Bop Bopda Ba Debris Fries

Debris Fries from the Fillin' Station in Biloxi.

 

Last week we ran down to The Coast for a few days vacation. It was a real rocknroll party.

 

 





You see what looks like a pair of glasses layin' next to the Boy as he sleeps...they're actually night vision spy goggles. He got 'em for his birthday just before we left....but, why he would need to see anything after dark I don't know. Him and his Momma go to bed around 6 in the evenin'...just after Wheel of Fortune.

Fortunately, for The Boy, you can find love in the light of the day...at The Shed.  This girl, who is not his girlfriend OK, is a recording artist....between her own songs she hosted an open mic. It was fun...some of 'em kids. So, not too raucous for these two.

I'm sorry. What was that? Did we hear Give Me One Reason to Stay Here by Tracy Chapman?

Stop being a smartass.

We did manage to make it down to the water every day. These "beaches" along the Coast are man made...sand dumped over what would be marshy shore. They're not the powdered sugar "World Most Beautiful Beaches" along the coast in Alabama and the Panhandle of Florida. Give it another 10,000 years and maybe the pulverized quartz, that came down from the Appalacians, after the last ice age, which make those beaches so impossibly white, will work it's way to Ocean Springs. I don't know if that will have any effect on the murky water though. You get glowing turquoise in Destin...here you get Lipton.

There is Ship Island...a sliver of a barrier island about 11 miles south of Gulfport. There's a group of these islands that run parallel to the coast but every hurricane takes a big chunk out of them.

 

I was looking for pictures and this one popped up from here. *

 



Very pleasant out there...clear water and sand. You can walk probably a quarter of mile when the tides right.

Fort Massawhatever is out there. It started life as a Confederate post but, the island was impossible to keep supplied and the Yankees took it over and built this in 1867. Nothing much happened out there unless you were one of these unfortunate few...

It's about an hour by ferry out there. It's a pleasant enough trip...dolphins usually come around.

It was a good time.  Look forward to doing it again.


*Mail readers...ha. You'll never get that off your computer.

Like A Pair of Shitty Pants

Something really shitty happened to Martha this week.

Other than to say she it not hurt and nobody is in jail...I'm not allowed to talk about it... for now.

So, I've written down everything I'd like to say and put it behind this picture.

I can say this much...despite what y'all may believe, because of the high level of sophistication with which I carry myself...my stunning good looks, I do not come from gentile stock. I have pure grain 100 proof  Cracker running through my veins...the urge to go completely Red Neck on all this is still strong after three days...but, with some difficulty, I'm behaving myself. I'm exercising restraint.

See how restrained I can be...



Little &^%$$# obviously deserves an Alabama Beatdown but....restraint is the word.

Restraint!!!! MOTHER ^%$##S!!!! RESTRAINT!

Conversations with BLB

 

The Boy has become a conversationalist. He still talks a lot of nonsense (really...a lot) but it has become increasingly clear that he prefers conversation to communication and chit chatter.

  Chagall

 

We have a lot of theological discussions. He thinks about these things.

 

Our first was last year during a thunder storm. I half jokingly tried the God rearranging his furniture line...as a segue to explaining that God is an immaterial being. He laughed and then, in a very matter of fact, ohhh Daaaady, tone he explained to me that God doesn't need furniture because he doesn't have a body. Well then... 

 

There's been quite a few conversations about the fully Human nature of Christ...conversations and observations.

 

"Jesus had a..."

"Yeah son I reckon he did"

 

I think that was established at the little known, actually entirely unknown, Council of Ephesus in 327. Jesus did have a penis (or wiener if you prefer) and yes he did go potty. Fully God....Fully man.

 

If fully man....then there is a possibility that The Boy could have beaten Jesus in a foot race. Maybe he wasn't that fast...that was an exciting possibility.

 

This week's talk was different tough. A much beloved security guard at his school finally succumbed to cancer. It's been a few weeks since Mr. Joseph passed but it perturbed his thought a couple of days ago while he was putting on his shoes.

"Why does God give people get cancer." You could hear the irritation in his voice.

I was taken aback and honestly a little excited...he's pondering these things. If he doesn't think about them he'll never hold them True or dear. He'll drop it like a bad habit or even worse just spend his life going through the motions...or horror of horror's end up at some Six Flags Over Jesus, listening to contemporary Christian music...wondering in a panic why the Holy Spirit hasn't moved over him like an epileptic fit...or why God hasn't blessed him with a Rolex because God wants his followers to be rich...or God only knows what.*

First, I gave him a Christian answer...God doesn't give people cancer. The world is fallen because of Sin but God by his grace has provided a way out. That is what I believe and I hope that is what the Boy believes but, that is not a very satisfactory answer to the question...it's a conclusion to be drawn after considering and thinking through a series of questions about Evil and suffering, etc.

The first thing we have to do is establish the fact of Evil...or Good for that matter. I started to ask him why it was bad for someone to get cancer...but, he was satisfied for the moment (we will return to it I'm certain) and went on a rant about Adam, Eve and Judas....he really dislikes Judas right now. Now I'm trying to explain that Judas is not responsible for Sin in the world but....

"Ok Daddy first thing we have to do when we get outside is go down the water and make sure the Japanese aren't attacking by boat." Our backyard has been battled over more times than the last Twinkie and The Boy has fought gallantly against Yankees, the Imperial Japanese, Pathans, the British, Zulus and the French Foreign Legion.

When we got to the water he determined that the Japanese had already come ashore and were to our rear...between us and our base (the deck). He assessed the situation like a salty veteran would...

"Dammit."

Salty indeed.

"You're not gonna tell Moma are you?"

 

 

 





*There is of course the rainbow, social justice, liberation theology option...where he agitates for some new legislation because Jesus came to establish the modern coercive welfare state....where he admonished his followers to feed the poor with threats of violence and incarceration...but, that's highly unlikely around here.

I think of all these options being forced to listen to contemporary Christian music would be the most punishing.

Skinny Arm



The Boy was freed from his cast this week.

 

 

Here he is discussing his x-rays with the doctor. The rotation of his wrist is good but, as expected the hinging motion is not fully repaired. So, he's got a splint to wear for monkeyin' around...and for track camp.

 

 

The school puts on various camps throughout the summer and he chose Speed Camp (Then I will be fast enough to beat Trey...great importance is placed on the playground races in Kindergarten).  The first day he told me he had to run 100 laps and then, for Martha, he enthusiastically demonstrated the stretching techniques he'd learned...buck naked after getting out of the tub.

 

The important thing is he should be in solid shape for Football camp later in the Summer. Once we had established that there would be no shots on this doctor visit ("they take your blood away dood")....that was the main concern.

Sixteen Going On Twenty-Six

Sixteen years ago last Friday me and Martha were married...just across the lake here, in my parents back yard. That photo was taken the night before.*

There's two ways I could go about this...

a) I could be sentimental -there's good reason for this approach. I love Martha deeply, for good reasons other than the obvious...and there couldn't be a better mother to our son.

b) I could gripe. There's good reason for that track too. We should be celebrating our 25th anniversary this year. We met when we were 15. I was ready right then...I knew it. We could have arranged it but, she's stubborn...it took ten years of intense psychological warfare to convince her to accept the inevitable.


(Blake would be like at least 15 and he'd be working and well into paying us back for the cost of his birth, tuition, etc.)

All you really need to know is that once I cut her off (let that sink in...she was cut off...from this)...she got her cap turned around, got her mind right...and hunted me down. Some of the more surly among you have been temporarily banned from these pages...you know how she was feeling. It hurt me more than it hurt her...but, it was necessary.

Ha.

Our song...



for no other reason than I'd just bought the single, before she'd come to visit me in Germany, and it was the only CD in my friend's borrowed car. I still like that album and now that I know one of you coughgronmarkcough prefers JJ Cale to Skynrd...and another of you coughsingingbearcough owns Asia albums....I refuse to make excuses.

That's enough of my personal business nosies.

Next up...Yankees at Cracker Barrel.










*Look at the glow in my eyes...I have nothing but bad intentions.

Gators

It's finally warming up in this bi---!
Our flowers should have come in a glorious burst and been gone by now. Instead there being petered out in splotches. We actually had a frost week before last.

I HATE THE COLD!...with a bleeding purple passion I HATE IT!

Yesterday...as I stood over the grill* babying a rack of ribs, I felt a trickle of sweat start between my shoulder blades and run a course down along my spine. AHHHH....Heat.

Heat...and Gators.

As Martha mentioned in the last post, me, my Daddy and the Boy, spent Friday on the golf course. There were gators everywhere.**



He tried to get closer but the gator swung his tail and disappeared in a splash.

You'll see he's still suffering greatly with the arm. They just put a cast on it today but, we wont' be able to see it...it's camouflage. It's probably not gonna be as angular as the splint anyway...so.

What? Yes I've been eyeing his broken arm for inspiration...I can't help it. It's an organic limb stuffed into a rectangle with a lopsided square at the end...there are fingers.



Obviously, I need some inspiration to flesh this one out...it's sputtering. Maybe I could talk him into breaking his foot.

_________

*It's actually a ceramic BBQ but since I'm trying to break some of you from referring to any metal bowl with a grill as a BBQ....

** We love the gators (I saw three of them this morning crossing the spillway) but they are a sign that our arch enemy is back on the crawl.

Cookies are not Biscuits

A cynical person might think that there are elements among us who don't believe these particular people are capable of pondering Universal questions at a high level...all I'm sayin'...get the same shit with "Folk" art...and with Country music...only that's been a bald face con perpetrated by...anyway. We'll save it.

Beale St...Martha and the Boy a couple of years ago.

The Boy tries to convinces his Moma that he is indeed big enough to go into the bar.


Brace youselfs...this is the cut. When he hits the first fanfare you will think you're high. The Delta Force article named Junior Kimbrough as Fat Possums greatest discovery. No doubt, Junior Kimbrough was a balls out genius but, R.L. Burnside was capable, when he cared to, of making you feel like you've heard an echo of God's voice (and he knows it too...watch his face)...an affirmation of reality.

Maybe it's just me...that's possible too.