There's Too Much News!

An old friend of mine said, "I hope that you are reading a GOOD newspaper every day now that you don't work." By this he meant THE NEW YORK TIMES or at least THE WALL STREET JOURNAL. I told him I didn't read a newspaper every day...only on Sunday when I do buy and read THE NEW YORK TIMES. I explained to him that Sunday is a slow news day...nothing traumatic and earth-shaking happens on Sundays...not since Pearl Harbor got attacked in 1941. If any bad stuff happens during the week, by Sunday they are analyzing it and it doesn't seem so bad like it would have been as hard news. There's too much damn news anyway, and it's the same old stuff day after day. Our hometown newspaper even repeats obituaries. When I spend the summer in the mountains of North Carolina, THE NEW YORK TIMES is not readily available even though they own the newspaper in Hendersonville. If you want to be certain of getting a copy on Sunday, you have to sign up at the Harris-Teeter supermarket and they will hold a copy for you. It means driving almost 50 miles roundtrip to get one but reading the Sunday paper is about the only ritual thing I do, so I go every Sunday morning. When I went the last time, I forgot to take my money or my credit cards. The manager that's normally on duty was off and a co-manager was on duty. I explained the situation and figured he could let me take my newspaper and I could pay him the next time I was in town. It seemed like a simple thing to me, but he was having no part of it. Stern faced and non-negotiable. I told him he could see by my records that I always showed up on Sunday and always paid...even bought some groceries from time to time. But he just shook his head in the negative. So I said, "O.K. then. You lend me $5.35. (They charge TAX on the newspapers which I think should be against the law!). He was quick to reply, "I'm not lending you any money." I asked him if he thought I was a bum or something just because I had dried oatmeal on my beard. He said I had oatmeal on my shirt too and that he had seen a lot better looking bums. (I'm not buying my groceries there any more.) When I went outside there was an old, old Knights of Columbus guy collecting money for retarded children. I told him about the situation of not being able to get my NEW YORK TIMES...finally he said, "I'll give you a dollar to get your newspaper." But then I told him it was $5.35. He said, "What kind of newspaper is it anyway?" He obviously doesn't read THE NEW YORK TIMES. He wasn't so interested in giving me $5.35. I suggested perhaps I could take it out of his can of money...he had wads of one dollar bills. But he said, "Oh, no. We can't do that. This is for retarded children." I said, "Hell man, they are retarded. They don't know a one dollar bill from a five dollar bill. Besides, look at this oatmeal on my beard and shirt. I'm retarded myself so you can give me the money directly." He said they had warned him about people trying to hoodwink him. I thought seriously about grabbing the whole can of money and running with it. But somebody in the parking lot would have caught me and I could just hear the co-manager telling the cops, "I knew he was up to no good...came in here trying to get a NEW YORK TIMES without paying. And I think he stole two jelly donuts on the way out." I didn't steal the donuts, but I thought about it.

Remembering the Geranium.

I am profoundly deaf. That means I'm deaf as a rock. I wasn't always. When I lost my hearing it was fairly traumatic. I owned three companies, all in the communications business. So being deaf and being in the communications business was sort of a tough concept to grasp. I struggled to learn to read lips and got pretty good at it. But I didn't venture out into public settings unless I had to. A friend of mine was giving a talk on public relations at a workshop in Boston. I wanted to go, so I signed up and went. The first speaker on the program turned out the lights to give his talk...a slide show. I could see the slides, but I couldn't figure out anything he said since the room was darkened. It was sort of a slap in the face...and it threw me into a instant funk. I left the workshop and went across the street from the hotel where there was a beautiful park. Although it was October, flowers were still in full bloom. I sat there staring at this red geranium that was at its peak. Without thinking, I started talking to the geranium. I told it, "Sure, you're blooming. But winter is almost here, and when it comes you are going to freeze to death. You'll be gone." I got no reply. But as I was watching this fully blooming geranium, I realized that it didn't care if winter was going to take it. It was going to bloom right up to the minute a frosty night would take it. I thought to myself, "Damn. That's what I want to do. I want to be blooming no matter what. I want to be in full bloom even if I am deaf and blind and ninety years old. I think of the red geranium often...and I blossom and grow.

Are You Creative?

Don't say "no"! If you say "no" you will never be creative. We all have creative potential. If you say "yes, I am creative", you WILL BE creative. It's that simple. You've got to believe you are and the creative side of your mind will go into gear. You'll be creative in everything that you do. It's not just about art or music. Creative is a way of living. And when you let the creative side of yourself lead the way, you'll discover who you really are...who you were meant to be.

I"ll Have the General Tso Cat

When I would go visit my cousins in North Carolina, we would often meet at a great little Chinese restuarant. The food was always wonderful. After years of visiting the place, I went to visit and my cousins told me the place had been closed down by the Health Department. It seems they were serving CAT instead of chicken in many of their dishes. What? Is it against the law to eat a cat? My cousins said it was against the law if you called it General Tso's Chicken. False advertising. I don't care what the Health Department said, it was damn good cat.

Up, Up and Away!

A friend of mine has an old cat...handsome guy. He got sick and had to be taken to the vet. She misunderstood what the vet said...she thought he said it would be costly...900,000 dollars. He actually said $900 to a thousand. She's a religious person who believes in "the rapture" so I suggested that it might be time to rapture the cat up to Heaven. But she was quick to tell me that cats cannot be raptured. I couldn't believe she said this...but she insisted that animals cannot be raptured. I was very disappointed and told her that if my favorite dog wasn't going to be in Heaven, wagging his tail to greet me, that I wasn't so sure I wanted to go. What kind of place can Heaven be if you don't have your pets with you. She says it's because dogs and cats can't profess their belief. But my dog was baptized...he baptized himself a couple of times a day in the summer. He did it in a pond down by the golf course. We could always tell when he had baptized himself because he was white normally, but he would come home green. Covered in pond algae. I'm fairly certain he's laying on the floor next to God. Or maybe chasing women.

Stop Bugging God!

I don't know about you, but I think people are on the phone with God way too much... asking for stuff...begging, even. I believe we should be thanking God all the time for whatever we have. Thank you, Jesus! It's o.k. to ask him for blessings...for yourself and for others. But let him decide how he's going to bless you. He's smarter than we are...he'll give us what we need, not necessarily what we want. Amen.

Not So Damn Fast!

I was on the road and stopped at a rest stop. As I walked in, I noticed a sign that said, "Automatic Toilets". It made me nervous to tell you the truth. I imagined some machine yanking down my pants and pushing me down on the toilet seat without even wiping it. So I asked the attendant what the deal was. He said that when you wash your hands, you just put your hands under the faucet and the water comes out automatically. And if you have to go into one of the stalls...when you get up to leave, an electronic eye in the wall knows you have left and it flushes the toilet automatically. I asked him, "You sure there's not somebody in the wall watching me?" He swore it was an electronic eye. With his assurance, I went ahead into the toilet to do my business. I leaned forward slightly to get some toilet paper and the damned toilet flushed violently...it was like a bidet (or what I imagine a bidet would be like!). I yelled, "Wait a damn minute. I'm not finished here." But the eye was quick on the trigger. I know there was somebody in the wall. I heard someone laughing.

What's That In Your Ear, Lady?

I keep seeing these people with gadgets in their ears...they aren't hearing aids. I think they are telephones. But the people sure look silly walking around with these phones in their ears. And so far, none of the people who I've seen wearing them look like they are ever going to receive a call from anybody. I told one woman, "It looks like you lost one of your earrings." She said, "No. This is not an earring. This is a telephone. I can get a call anywhere without having to use my cell phone." They are stupid...and whoever invented them should have a couple implanted in their asses. That's my opinion, and I'm sticking with it.

Give Me That Old Time Convenience

We didn't have convenience stores when I was a boy. But we had REAL convenience because a lot of the merchants came to us. My favorite merchant by far was a guy named Tony. He came once a week in the summer time and you could hear him coming long before you saw him. He rang a bell that was attached to his ice cream truck. It was more like a little room with glass windows than a truck and it was pulled by a horse who seemed to know exactly when to stop and when to go. I imagine he stopped when he saw at least five kids with their eager tongues hanging out. Tony came to our neighborhood once a week and I'm sure he covered other neighborhoods the days he wasn't at Osceola Mill. He drove his ice cream truck standing up. Even as a kid I could tell how delighted he was to be selling ice cream. He didn't hurry you if you couldn't make a decision among the flavors he offered. Sometimes he would suggest one scoop of each...he would mix the cone up if that's what you wanted. We always got cones of ice cream. My Mother and aunts would get cups of ice cream with little wooden spoons. They didn't think licking ice cream cones was lady-like. We didn't care because we were boys and we could lick faster than the ice cream could melt, even on the hottest day. On other days --- but not as often --- kids would run down the street yelling, "The Jew is coming. The Jew is coming." They didn't mean anything deragotory. Everybody called him The Jew, and not behind his back. The Jew owned a dress shop on Main Street. But many of the mill ladies rarely made it into town. They didn't have cars. If they went to town, they had to take a bus. The Jew drove a black van. The sight of it got the ladies off their front porches, especially the ones who cared about looking good and the ones who went to church regularly and needed something to wear. Going to church was the main time women got dressed up. I never knew any other woman other than my Aunt Hattie who actually "went out". She was a clothes horse and The Jew loved her for it. He would let her buy clothes even when she didn't have money. And even I --- a kid --- could see right through his sales pitches to her. He would say, as he held up a nice dress, "This is what they are wearing in Charlotte this season." He might as well have said Paris or New York. I don't know who "they" were but apparently my Aunt Hattie did because she would get the garment from his hands and hold it up to her body and look in the mirror he had hanging on the back door of the van. If it was good enough for Charlotte, it was good enough for Aunt Hattie. She had closets full of clothes; a room full actually. She was a "Looker" and she knew it. Groceries got delivered to the door. Not all the time. If you bought just a few things, you would carry them home in a poke. But if you were getting a week's worth of groceries, you could ask the store to deliver them. In this case, they packed the groceries in wooden boxes and then they would deliver out to your house and even bring them in an put them on the kitchen table. The service was free of charge but the delivery man would always stand around and wait for a tip. If you had money, you could pay for the groceries. But if you were short of cash (which most people were), you could charge the food until next pay day. That's where the song, "I owe my soul to the company store" came from. Except the store wasn't owned by the same company that owned the mill. But you still owed your soul. We rarely got meat unless you can call fatback meat. Once in a while we got stew beef which my father said was "tough as a horse, and might be one." We never asked him if he had eaten a horse before. We just assumed he did when he went off in his early life to live on the railroad as a hobo and to work in a circus. He might even have eaten an elephant. My father would sometimes say he had steak in his eye but bologna in his wallet. We actually didn't have bologna that often, just on pay days when they delivered a lot of groceries. I haven't even touched here on the convenience of having a Sears and Roebuck catalog. It's not that we bought that much. It was more of a "dream book". But when you did your order came right to your mailbox. My friends and I loved it most when the ice man cometh. Not too many people had refrigerators back then. There were a few electric Kelvinators around. But mainly we had ice boxes which served the same purpose but without electriicty. There was a big metal box and the ice man delivered a big block of ice which would then cool the whole ice box as long as the ice lasted. We had a carboard sign with numbers that would hang out to tell the ice man how many pounds to leave. But he generally knew without looking at the sign. Our ice box was up against the kitchen wall. There was a door in the wall that the ice man could open from the outside and put the ice in the box without actually coming inside. But the main reason we liked the ice man is because he would give us chunks of broken ice. We would suck on it. And if it was really a hot day, we would sometimes rub the ice all over our chests. And somebody would always remind us that Eskimos lived in ice houses. And then somebody else would say, "Yeah, but not in Gastonia, North Carolina in August."

Don't Spin Off the Earth

Not that I don't have enough to think about, but I just read an article that the gravity pull is getting weaker. I remember when I was a kid and found out that the earth was round and revolving, I was so sure we were going to spin right off...go flying through space. In fact, I started walking by grabbing on with my toes...and I still do. I wear out my shoes from the inside but so far it's kept me from flying away. Now we might really fly off! I'm sure some of Bush's people will hire their friends at Halliburton to make all the Americans (well, maybe not illegal immigrants) special shoes with magnets that hold us onto the earth's surface. . I just hope they're as comfortable as my Crocs.

The 95-Year-Old Killer

I read about a guy who had just celebrated his 75th wedding anniversary. He was 95. He came down one morning for breakfast; his wife was eating her oatmeal. He shot her in the head and killed her. He called 911. The police came and he told them that he had killed her. They asked him why and he replied, "I just couldn't take it any longer." I'm sure an all-male jury will understand and let him off.

Skiing in the United Arab Republic

They have built an INDOOR ski resort in Dubai, United Arab Republic. It looks like a space station on the moon...huge. It's 120 degrees outside but they have fresh white snow inside...men skiing with towels on their heads. But they can afford to be frivolous when we are paying $3 a gallon for gasoline.

Shopping for Organic Eggs at the Chicken Ranch

My wife pays my Visa bill each month and she carefully looks at where I've been spending money. She wanted to know what I was doing at The Chicken Ranch. I told her I was buying eggs. She said, "You spent $200." I told her they were organic, free-range eggs and the ladies at The Chicken Ranch have to look all over the desert to find the eggs. Half of them are hardboiled from the heat by the time they find them. It's not easy work.

Cows Can't Tell You Whether It's Going to Rain or They Would Be TV Weather Women.

It's an old wive's tale that if you see cows sitting down in a field that it's going to rain shortly. They sit down because their feet are killing them. If it's going to rain, they put on their raincoats or open an umbrella.

Temporary Sanity

Did you hear about the guy who killed his wife. He's pleading "Temporary Sanity".

Tell Me You're Kidding.

I saw an on-line advertisement for RENTING designer handbags. They've gotten so expensive, I guess a lot of people can't afford to buy them. So now you can rent them...return one and get another one. I've heard of some stupid things, but this is super stupid. Most of the handbags are ugly...so I guess that's how people know they are authentic. .

Billy Graham's Getting Nervous

In the summer I live in the mountains of N.C., not far from where Billy Graham lives. My wife loves Billy and when he is on TV, she always wants me to watch with her. Not too long ago, he was being interviewed on a talk program. The host said, "You are getting up in years. It won't be long until you are in Heaven, sitting and talking with God." I was shocked that Billy Graham answered, "I'm not sure that I have earned the right to sit with God." My wife and I both gasped. I turned to her and said, "If Billy doesn't think he has the right to go to Heaven, we are in deep shit, honey." She said, "Speak for yourself. I'll be there. I've earned my right. I clean brass at church once a month." And I said, "Yes, and that's what you will be doing in Heaven...except I am sure they have a lot more brass than St. Luke's does." She said that Billy was getting nervous because he used to play golf with Richard Nixon and pal around with him. I don't really think that's enough to keep him out of Heaven. But I'm hoping he's not thinking he'll be able to play golf with Nixon up there because I'm sure Nixon's in Hell playing with the Devil.

"Are you Oral Roberts?" She Asked.

I used to go visit my mother-in-law in the nursing home...I'd go and give her a whirl in her wheelchair around the place...or take her for a drive in the country. We would sing songs as we drove along since nobody could hear us. Once when I had her out and took her back to park her in the main room, I put her near the big TV set. There was an old woman there with her hand raised in the air repeatedly saying, "Help me. Help me." Poor thing. I took her hand and said, "Do you want me to help you?" She said, "Yes. Are you Oral Roberts." I thought for a moment and then said, "Yes. How did you recognize me?" She said she had seen me on TV. She was in a wheelchair and her foot was crooked. I had read a book about "faith healing"...the laying on of the hands. So I was looking for a chance to try my new skills. I asked her what seemed to be the matter. She pointed toward her legs and said, "My foot." I got down on my knees between her legs and I lightly touched her foot. She SCREAMED. I was so sure the nurse would come and find me down on my knees with my head between the old lady's legs. But fortunately, the nurse was snoozing as usual. I said to the woman, "Did I hurt you?" She said no. I asked her if she really believed because that's one of the essentials of faith healing...you've got to believe that you can cure them; they have to believe that you can. It takes two to faith heal as well as to tango. She said she believed. So I said, "Well, let me try again. I'll put my hands on your legs and I'm sure you will be able to walk again." She said, "I don't want to walk again. My foot has gone to sleep and I just want you to wake it up." I jumped up and yelled, "My God, woman! You think Oral Roberts goes around waking up old feet??" I'm a Faith Healer. I can make you walk again! "Please," she begged, "Just wake my foot up." I yelled, "Yee of little faith. Wake your own damn foot up. I'm out of here."

The Christian Right; The Christian WRONG.

I think they should rename the Christian Right...call it The Christian WRONG. They are getting so crazed lately. It's one thing if they want to tote the Bible every place they go, but now they have taken to shaking it at you if you do or say anything they don't like. It's scary! These are the people who elected President Bush. They should be shaking their Bibles at him.

Keeping an Open Mind

I always thought it was good to keep an open mind...it showed you were open to other people's opinions. But the trouble is, as you get older and you have an open mind, stuff starts spilling out. I've always been the kind who put my foot in my mouth all too often. But now that I'm really old, I'm shocked at the things that come out of my mind when it's open. And if I am shocked, think how shocked listeners are likely to be.

Chewing the Fat

Where in the world did an expression like "chewing the fat" come from? When I was a kid in the South, my Mother would cook "Fat Back" every morning. She cooked it and saved the grease in a can so she could flavor her green beans and other vegetables with the taste of the fat. We would have the fried Fat Back pieces on biscuits for breakfast. The fried fat is very, very tasty. From time to time in Southern cafes you'll find it on the buffet or the main menu as an "entre". It was easy to chew the fat. What wasn't easy was to chew the sliver of pig hide that the fat back was attached too. In fact, we used to see how long we could chew it...sometimes I could chew it all the way to school which was a two mile walk before it disintegrated...or before I spit it out. In Frederick, Maryland, a friend and I used to love to go to a cafe called, CHAT AND CHEW. My friend loved it more than I did, and he definetly loved the name. In the little town of Bluffton, S.C., they have a place called the SQUAT AND GOBBLE. I keep trying to get my Maryland friend to come down so I can take him to lunch there. I know he would like to chew the fat at the Squat and Gobble.

The Fish Are Biting

I live on a mountain lake in the summer. And the fish are biting. Not biting the worm, but biting ME. Everytime I try to go in the lake to swim, if I slow down at all the fish start trying to bite moles off my legs and back. These moles don't look like worms, but they apparently look very appetizing to catfish, mountain trout and big-mouthed bass. It's not that their bites hurt all that much, it's just that it scares me. It could be the Loch Ness Monster, you know.

Dragging Main

It always amazes me what THE NEW YORK TIMES puts into its Style Section. Mostly crap from Hollywood. But recently they had an article on "Dragging Main" in Asheville, N.C. For those who don't know what Dragging Main involves, it's an old Southern custom (which I am personally surprised is still alive) in small towns all over the South. On Saturday nights, boys gas up their cars and go to town...the girls go to town, but they walk down Main Street. Strool actually. The boys slowly drive by checking out the parade of young women....making appropriate and inappropriate remarks to them trying to lure them into their cars. It's sort of a pre-marital mating game. I'm surprised that guys can still drag Main with the price of gas hovering around $3 a gallon. I'm sure there are some Southern towns where Main Street is on a hill so they can coast down without having to turn on the motor. I used to go with my cousin Howard to drag main when I was a teenager. Howard drove because (a) I was too young to drive and (b) I didn't have a car. My job was to sit in the seat by the driver, roll down the window, hang out the window and say cute things to the passing parade of young women. Some of them wouldn't even look our way. (I didn't take this personally because I figured it was the CAR they were rejecting, not me.) But most of them would look my way, smile and giggle. Our objective of course was to lure them over to the car for some serious conversation. The girls always walked in twos...and the boys drove in twos. Howard would feed me "lines" that I was to say. His lines were corny, but they usually worked because he was an old hand at dragging Main. He wasn't looking to net two young women...he was going for a special type who wasn't just going along for the ride, so to speak. When we captured a couple, we would usually take them to a hamburger joint on the outside of town...and then to the Drive-In Movie. He always carried two folding chairs in the car and he would make me and the ugliest girl sit outside to watch the movie. I'm not sure what he and the other one did, but they never knew anything about the movie we had seen. I don't think anybody drags Main Street in the town where I used to live. All the stores are closed now...Main Street is dead. But I may go over next Saturday night and just double check.