Life in the Fast Lane.

After a fortnight of criminal court, I'm ready to cut loose. Friday night, Baby! Braves baseball and green tea! Sigh. Braves lost 3-2 in the eleventh inning. Got in a couple of chapters on a Warren Zevon biography. He, evidently, did not spend his Friday nights the same way I do.

And Andy and Chase get up at, like, 4:00 a.m.? That's just nuts!

Bold Pronouncements: Part I

I love sweets, really I do. Cookies, cake, pie and candy are wonderful. I used to use my allowance to go to Rexall in Town and Country and buy candy by the pound. I also used to play tag, and kick-the-can, and football, and ride my bike for miles and miles. Now? Not so much. I just marked the 48th anniversary of my birth, and exercise has not been a big priority for me. If I wanna see sixty, I'd better start paying attention to this sorta stuff. Since I tend to be more an externally than internally motivated sort of fellow, I've decided I'm going to shoot for some decent distance run for my 50th Birthday. Until a couple of years ago, if I said I was going to achieve something, I- by God- achieved it. In 2001, I said I was going to train for a marathon, and in December 2002, I completed one (not fast, but I finished). Since then, my pronouncements haven't been worth Confederate money. Two or three times in the past couple of years, I've made tepid statements about running a marathon or some such thing, and done jack-spit. Now I'm giving myself a challenge. I'm going to run 50 k on or about my 50th birthday. That's what? 35 or so miles? I'll have to drop 30 or so pounds to have a shot, but that's a good thing, right? Imo try to limit my sweets to one day a week (some exceptions for holidays and birthdays), and eat fewer fried foods. I got the shoes, Chase. I've got a schedule to get me up to marathon distance, after that I'll need some help. But you guys'll help, right?

Roadtrip: Lynyrd Skynyrd

My Baby Mamma, Tina, our kids, her husband (my Husband-in-Law) Darryl, and one of his kids, Christian, headed for Wild Adventures in Valdosta, GA, for the Memorial Day weekend. My kids' B'Day present to me was a ticket to join them there, where Lynyrd Skynyrd would be playing Sunday Night (odd as it seems, Tina and Darryl, the various assortment of kids, and I frequently go to events together. It's weird, I know.). Oldest, Davis, and I drove down from the Boro on Sunday to join them. Around Waycross (which, I think, is South Georgian for "very angry"), we saw the following business:


Davis stands in front of said business, trying to look like a Country Boy. You know. Just in case.












We arrive at Wild Adventures, where Davis promptly obeys their commands. Of course, it's easier to watch for the non-moving ones.












We missed Charlie Daniels, whose appears to be sidelining in the poultry business. The Lads mug for the camera.

Taylor contemplates meeting these two age-appropriate young ladies. Sadly, his older (by five minutes) brother, Tyler, would "hook-up" leaving Taylor and step-brother Christian to drown their sorrows in corndogs and french fries.











Where's my daughter, Caroline? Ah, here she comes.



Wonder why America is fat? Anyone up for a pound of chili-cheese fries? I asked about the kids' meal. Asked how many kids you get to get for $6.29. Seriously, though, if you're hunting Bubbas, this was the place to be. Valdosta, Georgia. At a theme park. On Memorial Day. At a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. It's like hunting over bait. At 230 pounds, I'm not a small guy, but I doubt I was in the top half of heavy people at Wild Adventures. Check out the role call of Bubbas:

Not all of them were obese. Some were just... weird.

The Lynyrd Skynyrd web-site says that only two of the original members are still in the band. Make that one. The keyboardist was apparently in the hospital in nearby Jacksonville, FL. Still, the concert was pretty good. They played all the hits, and played them well. They also played my favorite Skynyrd song, "Tuesday's Gone". The energy was a little weak from the crowd, probably owing to the mix of roller-coaster buffs who just happened on the show, but all-in-all, not too shabby.

Memorial- Chicken Thomas

Point South is a small community on the Northern edge of Jasper County, South Carolina, right off of exit 33 on I-95. Not a lot going on in Point South. Most passers-by would notice that there are a couple of hotel/motels, some fastfood restaurants, a KOA campground, and three or four gas stations, but not much of interest on the trip to or from Florida. But if you park your car and walk, you might see one of the many small family cemetaries in the area. This is where I met Private Chicken Thomas. The little graveyard in which Private Thomas is interred is the last resting place of several African-American families. I recognize the names from my practice in Ridgeland. I knew a couple of the people that are interred there now. I didn't know Chicken Thomas, as I didn't get to Ridgeland until 1987 or so, and he died on June 22, 1975. I do know he had family who loved him, because he has a nice headstone. The one thing Chicken Thomas' family wanted you to know about him from his nearly seventy-nine years on this celestial ball, was that he was a veteran of World War I. Since the Army wasn't fully integrated until President Truman ordered it in 1948, most of the African-Americans serving in the Army in World War I were not permitted into combat, and, according to this article http://www.liunet.edu/cwis/cwp/library/aaffsfl.htm#WWONE , the few that were permitted into combat fought along side French troops, rather than with White American ones. Chicken Thomas never got any rank to brag about, and probably never got into battle, but was proud to serve his Country. This Memorial Day, I want to thank Private Thomas.

BEATLES - Birthday

It's Bob Dylan's Birthday today. Oh, yeah, and mine. Having trouble embedding of late, so this may be a two-parter. Or not.

Identity Theft

People can be a little too trusting in today's society, and identity theft campaigns are fighting the good fight to make sure that the men and women of tomorrow don't make the mistakes that the old floozies of yesteryear have made. These days, you don't know where your milk comes from, you don't know how many people have manhandled your ground chuck before you make that tasty burger with the cheese that may have been made in Argentina by llamas (American cheese my fanny), and you don't know if that fish you ate really was red snapper. On a (more) serious note, I have heard that most of the time you don't actually get red snapper when you think you do, see http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2004-07-14-fish-labeling_x.htm. Or don't see it, see if I care. The FISH are victims of identity theft! Sure, we have laws protecting the fish's right to live as a species, but we don't have any laws protecting the identity of these precious creatures. I won't even begin to go into human identity theft. Wait, yes I will, that was the whole point of this post. The bottom line (let's face it) is this: the advent of the world wide web has made it criminal not to steal somebody's identity. Case in point: my name is David Scott Mathews, I live in Walterboro, SC, and my father is asleep while I'm using his blog. If that doesn't prove my point, I don't know what does. I'll leave it alone, for now. Just answer this one question: have you stolen anyone's identity today? If not, why? Explain your reasoning.

Werewolves of London

A few months ago I visited my Oldest in Ireland. We took a trip to London. While we were there, we made a point to stop by Lee Ho Fook's (though we didn't get a big dish of beef chow mein). Not sure why, but I've been unable to embed of late, so if you don't already know the Warren Zevon tune, you can check it out at:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=nhSc8qVMjKM

Ooh, Yeah, Life Goes On...

Still in Court. Guilty pleas. Probation violations. Picked a jury in one case, but got a deal my client couldn't refuse before said jury was sworn. Still got a coupla days this week, and another week after, where the prosecutors were earlier talking of trying an arson case I got (well, it's not really MY case. It's mine to handle, but I get to go home either way.) Feeling a bit worn. Ol' Smiley, at left, probably got worn out shilling for Wal-Mart (as opposed to pitcher Curt Schilling for the Red Sox).

Beatles Cartoon - Taxman

Taxman? Can't stand him. Easy to see why the Israelites in Jesus' time found them unclean ('Course, Jesus didn't like Lawyers much either...). I got much more I might say on the subject. Or not. Got Court for the next fortnight, so posts might be spotty.

When Life Hands You Lemons...

A Coupla weeks ago these guys...

Teamed up with This Guy...

To run a business. Though Papa is not much of a businessman, one half of the Lads, at least, appears to have some business chops. Taylor and the younger kid next door, Zach, decided to put together a lemonade stand. Quaint idea, no? To my utter shock, they made more than thirty U.S. dollars in about two hours. I advanced them the supplies, and they paid me back. With their initial profit, they rode their bicycles down to Food Land and bought more sugar and powdered lemonade mix and cups. And They Made Money! The American spirit may be ill, but it ain't dead just yet.

DEAN MARTIN - THAT'S AMORE'

That's a Moray

I can't help myself. Apparently, neither can the writer of Pearls Before Swine.

Happy Mother's Day

My Mother was a Sister. Yeah, she had a brother (Uncle Bob to AndyMan and me), but that's not what I'm talkin' about. I'm a son-of-a-nun. Honest Injun. Here's an article about her when she was "stationed" in Lincolnton, NC, near Asheville.

She performed with story-telling troupes in NC and in Northern California. That was sorta her ministry. She tried to teach me some stuff that way. Don't be so competitive. Don't judge folks. That sort of stuff ('Course, she was battling dad's influence and DNA, so, you know, the success was limited).

I've got lots of pictures of mom, but the ones I like best show her assuming non-mom roles.



Mom and five of her best friends from Orlando called themselves "the Girls" (Cousin Paula wasn't in this picture, but I liked it anyway). They knew each other for about 65 years, from gradeschool, and continued to get together every couple of years. Mom is on the right.

Mom was funny, spiritual, and one of the smartest people I ever knew.
I miss her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Confederate Memorial Day

We don't work today.

Remember war's fallen ones.

Regardless of cause.

Pot and Potter.

A Neighbor offered me pot, which I declined. I told him he was free to do whatever he wanted, but please don't use it around my kids. That's the last time he allowed his kid around mine. Another neighborhood kid, the son of a fundamentalist preacher, asked about my reading Harry Potter with my boys. His dad thinks Potter's a rotter. I 'splained that, even though there are people who think anything with fantasy characters in it is "satanic", we didn't see it that way, and neither did C.S. Lewis nor JRR Tolkien who were both Christians (Lewis being rather well known for his Christian writings). I told him his father wasn't wrong, and ultimately, even though we enjoy the books, he isn't missing anything vital in his life by not reading it. That's the last I've seen of that kid. Sometimes the World's a strange place, Idnit?

It's Not Whether You Win or Lose...

Football Hall of Fame and Greenbay Packer Coach Vince Lombardi is frequently quoted for his "Winning isn't everything. It's the only thing". Yessir, win or go home. It's the American way. Steroids are rampant through sports, even down to high school. Charges that the New England Patriots won their championships, at least in part, because they cheated by stealing the other teams' play-calling signals persist (if you want you can read the article below).
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080508/ap_on_sp_fo_ne/fbn_patriots_walsh_tapes

Lombardi's last championship was in the mid-1960's, so you got to figure that winning at all costs has been the American way for awhile now. 'Cept that's not how I remember it. I remember when parents (even my own sweet dad) used to say, "It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you played the game". I remember when East Germany (yeah, I know, not a separate country anymore) used to be a symbol for winning Olympic contests by cheating. Every East German woman who won an Olympic medal looked like a dude (and not a handsome one, either), and everybody knew they only won because they cheated. They used steroids. It used to be a bad thing. The Cubans may have beaten us in boxing, but they used pros. The Soviets (yeah, I know, not a country anymore) may have stolen our basketball gold medal, but that's because they obviously paid the refs to give them more time (and they used pros, and we sent in college kids). You won, but we couldn't live with ourselves if we had to do what you did to win.


Here's to Central Washington's college softball team, whose players carried a member of the other team around the basepaths after she'd knocked the ball over the fence, but blew out her knee and couldn't round the bases without help. I'd read the story a couple of days ago, and saw a video of it on Kate's blog, "Out in Left Field" yesterday. None of those gals would make it on East Germany's Olympic teams, and I couldn't be prouder of them (they're prettier, too).

We Really Need the Eggs

A lotta stuff going on of late. A lot of it not too good. Too much to do for alcohol abuse (plus, I don't do more than three drinks anymore...), so I escaped to the T.V. It was 1977 all over again. VH1 had a show on 1977, and this movie, Annie Hall, was on one of the movie channels. I've watched a fair number of movies over the years. Certainly I knew all about Annie Hall (Shoot, it did win a couple of awards, I'm told), but somehow, I'd never watched it. Until tonight. Not too shabby. Jesus explained important lessons with parables. Woody uses jokes. The three jokes that Woodie used to sum up his life could apply 'bout as easily to a lot of us: 1) The two old ladies in the Catskills at lunch. "This food is awful!", says the one. "Yeah", says the other, "and the portions are so small!"; 2) Copping Groucho Marx's line to describe his relationships, "I won't join that club. I'd never join the kind of a club that would have me as a member"; and 3) A guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "My brother's crazy. He thinks he's a chicken". Psychiatrist says, "Maybe you ought to have him commited", Guy says, "Well, I can't. We really need the eggs".

Boys Night Out

Amazing Ultra-Runner AndyMan Mathews paid a visit to the Boro. A-Man, the Lads and I had a big night out. Ate at The Blarney Stone. Good blackened grouper, but mostly it was about the Bass. No, not the Dan Ackroyd "bass-o-matic" bass, but Bass Pale Ale. Yum. Andy had a Black and Tan. Then on to Ivanhoe Cinema for Iron Man. Not too shabby.

White and Nerdy

It has been called to my attention that I am not especially, er, ethnic. At breakfast today, Cathy a/k/a Sunny pointed out that I used the term "bellwether" in our conversation. Evidently, this is not a phrase that is widely used across the cultures. I know, because I asked. I was at Denny's, and I asked the cashier and my waitress, both African-Americans, whether they had used the term "bellwether" in the last two years. No, they had not. I asked one of my pale brethren who was waiting in line. He didn't answer immediately, but as he searched his memory for the context of the last time that he had actually used the term himself, it was clear he was every bit as white as I.

Roadtrip: MCR

Loaded up the SpongeBobMobile at about 10:00 a.m. and headed in the wrong direction. East toward Beaufort to pick up some birthday money from BabyMomma.

Went West through Bamburg County, Aiken, then picked up I-20 through Georgia. Stopped at the Alabama Welcome Center. Alabama welcome? Rather an oxymoronic term, particularly given their motto: We Dare Defend Our Rights. Hmmm. Who is "our"?

Maybe we can get a clue from the Alabama governor whose administration bankrolled the Welcome Center. Ahh, famed segregationist George Wallace. He doesn't look happy. Too busy defending Alabaman's rights to smile, I guess. 'Course, with my State's track record, I ought not to be tossing rocks, I suppose.

Here's something you don't see every day: a Port-a-potty farm. Actually, this is the Super Motor Speedway at Talladega, a coupla weeks after a big NASCAR race. The thought of that many NASCAR fans depositing that much processed nachos, pork rinds and Budweiser... Erg. I'll be right back...

We stayed at a boutique hotel in the trendy Five-Points area of Birmingham.

Wonder what Goat-Man is reading?

Grabbed some sammiches before the show. The Lads made sport of the waiters and waitresses by casting reflections off their knives into their eyes. If I've learned anything from my travels, it's "don't upset the people that bring you your food". Sadly, I had not, up to that time, taught this to the Lads. We all left feeling slightly queesy. Next time I gotta remember to pack some Tums...

The show was held at the Sloss Furnace, er, area? Museum? Well, whatever it is called, its an old furnace-making industrial site. The tickets just said "Sloss Furnace"- fortunately, a misnomer.

I wasn't allowed to bring my camera into the show. I tried, without much success, to take a couple with my phone camera. The warm-up groups were Drive-By, whose main qualification to be there seemed to be the lead singer's ability to remind the audience that we were all in Birmingham, Alabama, and that, eventually, they'd be leaving and we'd all be able to watch My Chemical Romance. The second group, Billy Talent- who must not have been around in the eighties when a similarly named preformer had a coupla tunes on the airwaves- at least brought some decent energy to the show. They didn't make many friends in the land that dares to defend itself when they said mockingly, "This is the very, very, very, very, very first time we've been to Alabama. We're from a place called Canada". Some people actually booed when the lead singer said that. He recovered okay, but never completely understood that, if you're going to tease people from Alabama, you should wait until you are safely out of Alabama to do it. Least that's my strategy. You've already seen some MCR videos.

There was an awful lot of black in the crowd. You get the feeling that even Johnny Cash woulda said, "Whoa, dudes, cheer up".
I'd like to tell you they all looked like:
Or this:

Some of them did. But it is a sad fact that many Emo kids are not pretty and not everyone wears black with equal aplomb; Some were gravitationally impaired, and, clad in all that black, bore uncanny resemblances to bowling balls. The crowd tended toward about 15 years of age, but, to my amazement, there were really quite a lot of parents there. A mix of devoted parents taking their kids to their first concert, and I guess a few of them musta got lost on the way to "The Eagles, Hell Freezes Over Yet Again Tour". Some of them dressed for the show. Big mistake. They just managed to look a few months early or a few months late for Halloween.

Me? I got a black suit and a tux, but didn't opt for black.

Dad, in his Emo outfit...

The trip back was looong, and made longer by the fact that the boys had frequent gas attacks. Fortunately, I control the windows. I also had a little gas late in the game. Hee Hee Hee.

We did see a tank around Blackville, SC. I opted to leave out the Lads favorite pictures. What, you can't guess? C'mon, it's a bunch of immature boys!