Redeeming Man-Cred.

My brother, the amazing AndyMan, has noted a distinct lack of testosterone in my recent posts. A man must atone. While my intended, Lovely Lady Di, attended- I kid you not- "Eat, Pray, Love" on Saturday, I took the Lads to the movies at the Citadel Mall to see the anti-"Eat, Pray, Love": The Expendables. Now I'm ready to go change a tire or something.

The Four Seasons, Redux.

If you'd've told me a couple of years ago that I'd be watering flowers every morning, I'd've probably questioned your sanity. Along with a recent predilection for music of the non-hard-rock persuasion, I've been noticing flora more in my advancing years. The marigolds of Spring are beginning to close up shop for the year. Oh, sure, I've noted the four seasons before, but these flowers I actually water.

JT, CK and ETV.

Lady Di and I caught an hour or so of James Taylor and Carole King's "Troubadour Concert" on ETV Monday night. JT and CK have been around for quite awhile, and both are in the (soft) Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I might quibble about whether or not they are "rock", but I can't deny that these these old cats still sound great. They don't look like they did in this video; I think they look, and sound, better now:

Jerry the Hobart.

I was a professional dish-washer in law school. There, I said it. Although my maternal grandmother, Gina, footed the bill for my legal education, I'd gotten an independent streak along and along, and decided I wanted some extra spending money. My buddy, Scott Anderson (click on his name if you want a repeat of an old post with a pic of Scott and me and some of our buds during this era (yes, Frandy, Russ is there, too)), got me a job washing dishes at Steak and Ale in Tampa over the Christmas holidays in my first year of law school, and I decided to stay at it for a couple of months after the break (it was not a smart decision. My grades were abysmal that semester, and I ended up having to repeat a class, as I've posted before.

The dishwasher was the lowest form of being in the restaurant universe. Look at it this way: In the genteel space out front in the customer-contact world, the Bartenders and waiters/waitresses were the knights, with busboys as their squires. The kitchen was more like a military operation, with the chefs as the Top Sergeants. Prep cooks were, maybe, Lance Corporals. In those categories, dishwashers were the serfs and buck privates, respectively.

I say I was a dishwasher; actually, they called us "Hobarts", after the machine through which the dishes moved. Talk about no respect. Anyway, the busboys'd bring in stacks of dishes, which we'd spray off, stack in dishtrays, and set on the Hobart conveyor belt. The dishes would come, steaming hot, from the other end, and we'd stack them up on the shelves and send the next batch through. It was hot, kind of nasty, work. I lost fifteen pounds or so during my three month tenure there, and I always struggled to stay ahead of the busboys. 'Course, this was only a temporary gig for me. Not so for Jerry. Jerry was born to wash dishes. While I struggled, he'd lean up against the wall and smoke a cigarette until his stack of dishes got chin-high; then he'd knock 'em out in a trice. One night as he bemusedly watched me busting my butt, he commented, "Dave, you're not REALLY a Hobart, are you?". What do you mean, Jerry? "I bet you're a student, huh?" He's on to me, I thought. "Yes", I said. "Where ya goin'?", he inquired. I don't want to overwhelm poor Jerry, I thought, I'll soft pedal it a bit. "Why, I go across the Bay, over in St. Pete". "St. Pete Jay Cee?", Jerry wondered. "No", I offered (trying not to sound too superior), "I'm going to Stetson Law School". "Law school!", Jerry blurted. "Gonna be a cop, huh?". I'm tellin' you, I don't get no respect.

Pearls for Pun-ishment.

This "Pearls Before Swine" was from Sunday's Charleston Post and Courier (click on the picture, if you can't read it or didn't already see it in your Sunday paper).


Maybe Samuel Johnson was right about puns. Maybe puns are the lowest form of humor; but, God help me, I love 'em.

South Carolina's Got the Blues.

A few weeks ago, I was travelling about the Palmetto State with Oldest Son. It was Sunday morning, and we popped into a Columbia unit of a national chain to pick up a few items. To our amazement, not everything that the store sold was available for purchase on account of State Blue Laws. I was already aware that buying booze on Sunday was verboten, but this was too much. Half the store was roped-off to save me from myself. The classification system was... puzzling.


If I'm not gonna be in Church, I'd better not try eat Hershey's chocolate. Linde candy is, apparently, not so sinful.


Davis got his contact lens solution, but he was interrogated in line. "You didn't get that on the other side of the rope, did you?". "No, Ma'am. I'd never do such a thing". Never on Sunday.

...and Now, the Turtle's Response.

Well, I had it in there...

A Turtle's Mugged by Two Slugs...

This from the Ken Burger's column in yesterday's Charleston "Post and Courier": A turtle is mugged by two slugs. Asked for a description of his assailants, the turtle slug says, "I dunno. It all happened so fast".

Doodles: Part, What? Three?

The fact that I had plenty of work to do last term of criminal court didn't keep me totally well-behaved when I wasn't up to bat. I still doodled before and after my trials.

What's Up?

Now that I've got a chance to catch my breath, I'm getting caught up on some "me" stuff, including- ugh!- a colonoscopy consult for a couple of weeks from now. Ah, the joys of middle-age.