I'm a creature of habit. I'm a creature of habit, and I tend to get lost in my thoughts. If I perform some little act enough times, I'll repeat it, even when the occasion doesn't require it. In Pee Wee League football, I played center on the offensive line. One of the things centers had to do those many years ago was gather the team to the huddle by yelling "Huddle Up!" at the end of a play. Another football behavior that Coach Baggett, and other coaches of yore, taught us was to yell "Fumble!" whenever we saw a loose ball. Sometimes, my body'll be one place, and my mind somewhere else. Any of my coaches could tell you that many times my body'd be on the field, but my mind was God-only-knows where. Sometimes, my mind was on the field when my body wasn't. In my youth, I've yelled both "Huddle up!" and "Fumble!" when answering the telephone. This was, of course, not an appropriate response, as there were no footballs around, nor any teammates, and because it confused the people on the other end of the phone.
Now, phone have changed since my youth. Like a lot of newish cars, my Ford Fusion has a "hands-free" phone feature. I use it all the time. I press a button on the steering wheel and tell the car to "call home" or whatever other contact I might have in my phone. The car responds- usually correctly- and after my conversation is done, I press "end" on the steering wheel to end the call. My thoughts and actions are one. In a pretty brief time, the action is as natural and scratching an itch.
Okay, now where was I? Oh, yeah. I friend of mine has been having some troubles, of late. I said I'd say a little prayer while I rode to work. And I did. After my prayer, I pressed the "end call" button on my steering wheel. It probably wasn't necessary, but I figure God understood okay. At least I didn't yell "Huddle up!".
Son Tyler took the S.A.T. today. Where he goes to college, and how much it's going to cost, depend in some measure on how he did. A lot of questions. A little anxiety. One calculater. Two sharpened number two pencils. One of his complaints was having to use said pencils. "Who uses pencils anymore?", he wondered. I know I would have gotten at least one question wrong: What does S.A.T. stand for? If you guessed Scholastic Aptitude Test, like me, you're wrong. The answer is the same as "For what does the "S" in Harry S. Truman stand?" (I'd've asked, "What does the "S" in Harry Truman stand for?", but, well, that whole "don't end your sentence in a preposition" thing's got me spooked). Yep. According to Wikipedia, S.A.T. stands for nothing.
>I'm a mild and content man these days. Downton Abbey, a nice meal, and an occasional glass of pinot noir with Lady Di is a fine evening. It was not always so. I listened to Blues the other day, while I sipped a glass of cold beer. My mind drifted to days of yore. Commander. Russ. Scott and Bob. Betas and Fijis. I don't miss it, but I'm glad I lived it. Thanks, guys.
The Superbowl champion Baltimore Ravens are odd birds. The Ravens of the NFL are an especially brutal squad, named after the poem "The Raven", by Edgar Allan Poe. The prime mover of the Ravens has been, for nearly two decades, Ray Lewis. Lewis was accused- and acquitted- of an act of depravity: causing death in 2000 outside a club in Atlanta. The prime mover of The Raven was accused of being a depraved, drunk and drug-addled madman. Edgar Allan Poe endured this reputation unfairly, at least according to the hereinbefore included Wikipedia article, due to the malicious efforts of a Poe biographer with an ax to grind. Lewis and Poe have endured a cloud of suspicion over years, but the were both very good at their jobs. It's fitting that Baltimore's football hero leaves a legacy of excellence, and, perhaps, moral ambiguity, but as a champion. Call it poetic justice.
Lots of great Christmas music out there. We've generally got Pandora set to The Christmas Wrapping (Waitresses) Station or to Christmas Jazz, but lately I've been enjoying the Roches. Thanks, AndyMan, for introducing them to me. Merry Christmas, to all.
As I continue to clamor for floor relief, I keep my eyes peeled for any labor-saving household help, mechanized and otherwise. Over next to the Snuggies in a local market, I caught a glimpse of the "Slipper Genie" pictured at left. Who needs a vacuum cleaner when you can put on these special socks and walk away the dirt? 'Course, if that's plan "A", that's probably gonna be a pretty dirty floor, no? Hope they're disposable.
Normally I oppose child labor and imports from China, but I must say this baby bok choy worked well in Lady's Di's most recent stir-fry. For what it's worth, we got a big sackful of produce from the local farmer's market to keep this little fella company. So bok off, m'kay?
St. Jude's just had its bi-annual rummage sale this Saturday gone. Piles of stuff that meant, and may still mean, something to the folks that drop them off. But, as comedian Steven Wright once noted, "You can't have everything. Where would you put it?". True, that. So what do you do with the odds and ends in life? You can take them to the rummage sale, I suppose. Then someone else can stuff them in a kitchen drawer with the eye-glass repair kits and crazy glue. Maybe. Or maybe, you can sneak them back into your own junk drawer, then one day when you're looking, perhaps you can even find 'em again.
My boy, Tyler (he's the dude to the far right in the picture at left), has been marshaling his arts, of late. He's been punching, kicking and grappling along (his twin, Taylor, has just started mixed martial arts training. Karl Douglas, he of "Kung Fu Fighting" fame, would be so proud). Tyler started Jiu Jitsu not too long back, and just earned his first belt: a yellow belt. The lad's smart and tough, and I have no doubt there will be a full palette of belts coming his way; but it starts with white, then yellow.
A bunch of musicians have trended yellow, too:
Coldplay gets right to the point:
Donovan's brand of yellow was more laid back:
The Beatles got nautical with it.
Kingston Trio- Gave us the bird.
Joni Mitchell put her yellow on a Big Taxi:
That's a lot of yellow, right there. Wonder if I missed any?
Lady Di and I just got back from the Lone Star State. Pretty cool. My mix c.d. for the trip (to the airport) included Texas musicians Bob Wills, Little Texas, Willie Nelson, ZZ Top, Fastball, Possum Kingdom, Lyle Lovett, Buddy Holly, Butthole Surfers, Janis Joplin, and Vanilla Ice (yeah, he's all about Miami, but he started in Dallas), and one Louisiana gal, Lucinda Williams (hey, I like her). More, later.
Okay, where were we? Ah, yes, leaving West Virginia... (I know. I know. We came back from Michigan a couple of weeks ago, and I mixed in a story from my youth; still, I've got this completion thing). We exited a tunnel from the relatively steep mountains of West Virginia into the relatively rolling mountains of Virginia. Both are pretty, but you can feel the difference. Virginia just seems more orderly. Some pretty good musicians from The Old Dominion, but for me it begins and ends with the providentially named Dave Matthews Band (Dave Matthews was named after me. What's that you say? Dave Matthews' parents had no reason to borrow my moniker? True enough. The fact remains that, since he was born seven years after I was born, he was named after I was). Though Mr. Matthews was born in South Africa, his famous band was formed in Charlottesville, VA. You've already heard some of the music from North and South Carolina, so I think that'll do for this roadtrip. Next week, I'll share my trip to the Lone Star State.
We left Ohio and cut through West Virginia. About all I knew about West Virginia until very recently, was that Bobby Bowden coached at one of their universities before establishing his dynasty at Florida State, and that "Devil Anse" Hatfield, of the notorious Hatfield/McCoy imbroglio, and my ex-wife's husband were from there (no relation, as far as I know). My impression of the music scene, before I bothered to look into it, was that the following video was typical of the State:
Turns out I was wrong. We decided to stay overnight in West Virginia, because it is about half way between Lewiston, Michigan and home. We had a tough time getting a room. The place was pretty, and all, but we were perplexed. Turned out that the hotels were packed because the massive storm that bedeviled the East knocked out the power for about 120,000 West Virginians, and as many as could we trying to get away from the stifling heat. We talked to a few of the locals, and they were prayerful, pleasant and long-suffering, and I liked and admired them.
Musically? In addition to John Denver's ode to West Virginia, Country Roads (I was gonna put a link here, but blogspot changed the format on me, and I'm not sure how to do it. Anyway, YouTube's got it), there are a couple of amazing artists from The Mountain State: Country star Brad Paisley shouldn't be a huge surprise, but Bill Withers? Yep, R & B legend Bill Withers is from West Virginia.
Michigan has an embarrassment of musical riches, from Motown to rock to jazz, Classical and new age (oddly, I didn't notice any Country music bigshots). Among the many musicians with Michigan roots: Diana Ross and the Supremes, Ted Nugent, Madonna, Anita Baker, Stevie Wonder, Cub Coda of Brownsville Station (Smokin' in the Boys' Room), Bob Seger, Al Green, Jack White of the White Stripes, , Aretha Franklin (well, she was born in Memphis, TN, but moved to Detroit when she was six), Smoky Robinson, Sony Bono, Alice Cooper, Eminem, and Bill Haley of Bill Haley and the Comets.
We left the 'Vent Sunday morning heading North on I-75 through miles of flat land and places like Lima (Lima is real, apparently, though "Glee's" William McKinley High School exists only as so many pixels on my television screen), then up through Toledo near the Northwest corner of the state. On the way back, we took caught the Eastern part of the state, where they have coal, mountains, hardscrabble football, the Pro Football Hall of Fame (which we visited and which I'll post at some point), and Akron, home of two of my favorite 1980's musicians: Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders and Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo (Mothersbaugh later parlayed his New Wave fame into a gig as composer and performer of the theme music for Nickelodeon's "Rugrats"). Ohio, I'm told, also has college football, though Lady Di's Michigan connections forbid me from mentioning any of the particulars.
I got people in Kentucky. Cousin Paula, I'm talking to you! My mom was also born just across the river in Cincinnati. In addition to Wildcat Basketball, the Bluegrass State has a deep musical tradition. Wynona Judd (and her mom and sister Ashley) are Kentuckians, and so were the Everly Brothers (who knew?). Ricky Skaggs, you might not be surprised to learn, is a Kentuckian; but so are alt-rockers Cage the Elephant.
First, Ricky Skaggs:
Cage the Elephant (warning: this one's got some salty language and is a bit, er, sick):
We slipped in to Tennessee a couple of hours later. Tennessee's got tons of good music. The Allman Brothers hailed from the Volunteer State.
Okay, everybody knows Elvis was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, but there aren't many folks more intimately associated with Tennessee than the King:
Three hours after left from our South Carolina home, we hit North Carolina on the Northwestern border. Lots of good music from the Tarheel State. Here are a couple of the songs we listened to:
North Carolina's "Carolina Chocolate Drops" played at Spoleto last year. I really love their sound and energy.
Folk music legend Doc Watson (R.I.P. last month) was from North Carolina, and this next song provides an apt bridge for the next leg of our trip.
Did a couple thousand miles of traveling over the last week or so. We also sort of took a musical tour of the Southeast.
South Carolina's got some fine musicians. Here are a few we listened to on our way up North.
You already knew that Hootie and the Blowfish are from the Palmetto State, right?
But can't you see that the Marshall Tucker Band are, too?
Another South Carolina group that didn't get the exposure that Hootie and Marshall Tucker Band got was Cravin' Melon. Not sure what other songs they had, but you've got to love a song dedicated to "the wine of the South": Sweet Tea.
I got a vacation coming up. Got me to thinking about stuff. Dangerous, I know. I've heard lots of folks saying, "Life's a journey, not a destination". Maybe. 'Course, that's not the way my dad viewed trips. Like a lot of dads, he was all about getting there. Rocketing down the highway at a few miles an hour above the posted limit, windows cracked a half inch to allow some of the smoke from the chain-smoked Pall Malls to leave the car. Bathroom breaks? "You should've thought about that before we left". Dad was a classic guys' guy, who always voted Republican and who rooted against Muhammad Ali (or, as Dad would say, "Cassius Clay"), because he was a draft-dodger. But there are other memories, too. Like on a trip to New Smyna Beach, Florida, when dad suddenly stopped the car to pick up and relocate a turtle that was trying to cross the road so it wouldn't get run over. So, we should try to get where we're going, but we need to remember, at every moment, we're also already there. Or, as John Travolta said as the angel Michael, "You gotta learn to laugh".
I was born in Montana, raised in Tampa, and reside in a small town in the lowcountry of South Carolina with the Lovely Lady Di, and son Tyler. Walterboro (the 'Boro) has about 5,100 residents. It's a moderately interesting place. I work in the public defender's office representing poor people charged with crimes. Some of them did it. Some of them didn't do it. Some are not very nice, a lot of them are just regular Joes with a huge plate of bad luck.
I'm a moderately interesting fellow, who has the good fortune to know or be related to some very interesting people. Is there anyone out there?
many years ago was gather the team to the huddle by yelling "Huddle Up!" at the end of a play. Another football behavior that Coach Baggett, and other coaches of yore, taught us was to yell "Fumble!" whenever we saw a loose ball. Sometimes, my body'll be one place, and my mind somewhere else. Any of my coaches could tell you that many times my body'd be on the field, but my mind was God-only-knows where. Sometimes, my mind was on the field when my body wasn't. In my youth, I've yelled both "Huddle up!" and "Fumble!" when answering the telephone. This was, of course, not an appropriate response, as there were no footballs around, nor any teammates, and because it confused the people on the other end of the phone.
Now, phone have changed since my youth. Like a lot of newish cars, my Ford Fusion has a "hands-free" phone feature. I use it all the time. I press a button on the steering wheel and tell the car to "call home" or whatever other contact I might have in my phone. The car responds- usually correctly- and after my conversation is done, I press "end" on the steering wheel to end the call. My thoughts and actions are one. In a pretty brief time, the action is as natural and scratching an itch.
Okay, now where was I? Oh, yeah. I friend of mine has been having some troubles, of late. I said I'd say a little prayer while I rode to work. And I did. After my prayer, I pressed the "end call" button on my steering wheel. It probably wasn't necessary, but I figure God understood okay. At least I didn't yell "Huddle up!".
