Religious WHAT?

desire
Originally uploaded by lapeet1.

I had a conversation with a customer today that left me speechless for a few moments. You're probably surprised. You'll understand in a moment.

We were talking, catching up as it were, doing the thing where I act interested in his family and so forth. I asked him about his daughter (she's HAWT, by the way) who's currently enrolled at a super-selective private university.

"Yeah, she's doing great. She started out studying public policy, but now she's really into religious sex."

Huh? I didn't say anything for several moments. Usually there is a lively banter between the customer and me. The silence stretched on... and on.

I gathered my wits, "So, John, how 'bout that expansion module you guys had talked about? Still hiring some more folks this fall? You'll need the capacity."

Yeah. He shocked me. Until I realized that he had said "SECTS" not "SEX".

I called him back after about an hour to clarify. We had a good laugh and then he explained. She's studying modern religious ideologies, I think, or something. Much less interesting than... well, you know.

Technorati Tags:religious sex, religious sects, sects, homonyms

"Adult" book stores

nashvilleX3
Originally uploaded by ihaveabuginmyeye.

I confess, I've been in an adult book store. I was disappointed. They not one copy of War and Peace, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, Pride and Prejudice, Silas Marner, or even Gone with the Wind. They did have some interesting titles though.

Seriously. "Adult Book Store" is a bad name for what these places are, I think. "Adult Books" conjures in my mind an image of a slightly cluttered, dusty bookshop full of heavy tomes with weighty titles. I don't know what a better euphemism would be, though. It still should be something innocuous sounding -- maybe something like "Porn Store" or "Filthy Book Palace". Would those be clear enough?

Tori and Jeff and I were at the lake one weekend and had passed the book place a few times on our way back and forth. Tori suggested that we might stop -- that it might be interesting. Now, I hate to pass judgement on an entire industry based on one experience, but this place was CREEPY. Perhaps "stores" in Memphis would be more up-scale and less trashy, but this place, outside of Paris, was plain skank. The decor wasn't all that horrible -- it had a crummy-video-store kind of feel which doesn't bother me since I'm from a small town with no chain video stores (all our video stores are crummy), but the clientèle just FREAKED me... Granted, we didn't look like the a million bucks (we'd been on the lake part of the day and had showered, but not "fixed ourselves up" to go out), but some of the folks hanging out in this establishment looked as if they'd climbed from under a rock somewhere.

Anyway, we wandered in, were warmly greeted by the proprietress, and proceeded to look around. I was particularly fascinated by the "Toy" section. Tori kept telling me not to touch anything -- but I couldn't help myself. There, sitting on a shelf available to the whole world (or at least the part of the world willing to stop at such a distinctive establishment), was the molded silicon replica of some woman's (a famous "star" of the adult film industry, no doubt) nether regions. I picked a safe place to poke my finger -- a thigh, I think -- and was amazed at the texture. Didn't feel like any woman I'd ever poked. I guess, if you're buying silicon woman parts, authenticity isn't that big of a thing -- after all, if you NEED silicon woman parts, you likely don't have a real woman with which to compare it.

We didn't buy anything. If they'd had a T-Shirt, I might have bought one... I was gonna ask about souvenir t-shirts of key-chains, but Tori wouldn't let me.

We smiled politely, thanked the lady for letting us look around, and leaped into the car leaving a cloud of dust and thrown gravel hoping that no one from home (especially the preacher) recognized our car.

Technorati Tags:Adult Book Store, Porn, Stories, Travel, Interesting

Schoolhouse Rockin' Aunt Rete

Aunt Rete is a regular guest at our house for Sunday lunch. We have a fairly traditional lunch almost every Sunday -- Dad cooks, we sit around the table for an hour or so, and then progress into the den for more conversation.

Somehow, today, we got off on the subject of old cartoon. We talked about the Gummi Bears, Garfield, Fraggle Rock, and others. Samuel, trying to add something to the conversation, asked about Schoolhouse Rock -- he'd learned a few songs for something he did at school (a skit or some-such). He started demonstrating while sitting next to Aunt Rete. She didn't seem amused.



Don't tell Sam this is up here -- he'd be embarrassed.

Technorati Tags:Fraggle Rock, Schoolhouse Rock, Video, Sunday Dinner

Saying "I Love You"

"Death is a challenge. It tells us not to waste time... It tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other."
-Leo F. Buscaglia

I love. I love earnestly, deeply, tenderly, and without any expectations of reward. I love easily. The way that I love has caused me some heartache and heartbreak over the years, but on the whole, I think I'm happier.

Those of you who know me, my friends, know that I often (more often than not) end a conversation saying, "I love you." For some of you this has been off-putting at times. I have a certain "macho" friend who literally freaked the first time I told him that I loved him. I backed off a bit and didn't try it again for a while. Several months later he said to me, "Nathan, do you love me?" "Of course," I told him. "I love you too," he said. He almost always tells me that he loves me now -- he'll beat me to the punch on the phone.

I love. And I want you to know that I love you. To live in this world, today, in a time that is uncertain in so many ways (and I'm not even talking about eschatologically uncertain times), it is important to let people know that we love them. Yes, I love all people generally -- that's why it's so easy for me to rationalize bad behavior in others, to let personal slights and insults go, to accept people as they are, but I also love people specifically. Like family.

I have friends that I call "brother" or "sister". If I could pick my family, these people would be it. You know the kind of relationship I'm talking about. These are the people I wouldn't want or choose to live without; these are the people who keep me sane and keep me grounded. It's a short list, but I think I have more of these kinds of relationships than most. I talk to some people about their closest friends and I have discovered that many people don't have the kind of relationships I describe with ANYONE. I pity them. Who can read their minds and their souls? Who can hear their voice and immediately detect joy or heartache even when they're trying to hide it?

We need close friendships. We need love in our lives -- and not the EROS, bum-chica-wow-wow kind. Sure, there's a place for that -- a big place -- but that kind of love does not sustain us, that kind of love doesn't last (it comes in waves, even in committed relationships). For many people, married or committed people, their closest friend is their spouse or partner. That's not inappropriate -- in fact, it makes live a joy. To love, on multiple levels, the person you're spending your life with is a gift.

If a man should importune me to give a reason why I loved him, I find it could no otherwise be expressed, than by making answer: because it was he, because it was I.
- Michel de Montaigne

I try to love, we should try to love, without any expectations. That's a hard thing to grasp for some people. So many relationships (what some people might call "friendships" but I'll prefer to call "acquaintance") are based on mutual benefit. You give, I give, we both get something. That's fine, but it puts an invisible burden on a relationship. We should love purely, without expectation of reward or benefit. This is hard, yes, but in the end, if you're disappointed in a friend, you can say to yourself, "I love this person; I shouldn't expect anything of them but love in return."

More generally, we should love EVERYONE without expectation. The man on the street, the asshole who cuts you off in traffic, the dipsh*t that won't shut up in the elevator (and he's there every day)... When we decide to love people, all people, we let anger slough off of our souls like a second skin and I promise that we're happier. Some of you have heard me say, "I'm not angry, I'm disappointed." That sounds like something a parent would say, but it's the truth in my case (most of the time). I am more often disappointed than I am angry -- and disappointment is not a sin in any religion that I can find. Anger is an emotion; disappointment is a learning experience.

I love tenderly. I'm a soft-hearted kind of guy. When those I love hurt, I hurt. When they are disappointed in life, I find myself disappointed. Sympathy? Empathy? I dunno, but, that's what love SHOULD be. When we love, our hearts resonate with the songs in the hearts of others. I'm supposedly easy to read. A friend told me recently (on several occasions) that she can "read my face like a book". I don't know about that -- she didn't do so well if you ask me -- but it's true that those who know me well (perhaps those who love me?) *can* hear in my voice, see in my face, observe in my behavior my TRUE mood (and not the one I'm projecting to the general public). Tender love is gentle and caring, not pushy and abrasive. Tender love caresses our hurts and cheers our joys.

I love easily and readily. More than two years ago, I was reintroduced to a young woman who I'd met several months before. She went with me and some friends to eat and then to hang out. When we dropped her off at her apartment, I got out to walk her to the walk (I didn't go to the door). She thanked me for the invitation and I hugged her -- I stepped back, looked into her eyes, kissed her forehead and said, "I love you." She looked at me strangely, with a slight grin on her face, and blushed. I meant it -- right then. I'd spent several hours with her, only several hours, and I realized in that time that *this* was one of the most important people I'd ever meet in my life. This was not a false revelation. She has become a true friend, one of the people I'm closest to in the world.

We should be ready to love. We should be open to love. If I had sent out applications for "best friends", I doubt I would have picked the young woman above. If I had not been ready to love, easily and readily, I might not have recognized her value and worth. As it was, I was ready, our hearts were open, and most amazingly, they resonate now, almost two years later on the same frequency, they sing different parts of the same song.

So... I say, "I love you." I mean it. I say it often, but it doesn't mean less -- it means more. I am not afraid to love; I am not afraid to admit I love. I fear a future without love; I fear a future without my friends.

Receive love with an open heart. Tell people you love them. Love without expectation, deeply, tenderly, earnestly, purely, simply.

Technorati Tags:love, friendship, relationships, sappy

Come on, ring that bell

The only people who ever ring my doorbell are the police, evangelists, and people selling stuff (I guess evangelists are sort of selling stuff). I don't like it. I don't like company. I don't like people "dropping by" or any of that mess. I'm single and male. My house is a wreck. It's not a bio-hazard; I trash food scraps, etc, but there's mail everywhere, books piled up waist high, no room on my couch, etc.

When the bell rings early Saturday morning, I assume it's the police delivering a "package". I get a packet from City Hall every two weeks with reports, agendas, and so forth. I don't normally bother dressing for the police: I just scamper down the hall and throw open the door. The officer gets the pleasure of seeing me in all my unclothed glory. If I'm wearing skimpy underclothes and I'm feeling charitable, I might throw on a pair of "sleeping shorts".

I've found that answering the door nearly naked discourages evangelists from returning. I'm guessing they have a list somewhere and I'm on it: Single/Male, answers door naked, crazed expression

My hair is generally nuts in the morning. To the left is an illustrative picture of how I look when I'm first woken up. It was taken in 2004, but except for no beard and less hair on my head, it's pretty much dead-on. I look like a nearly naked drug-crazed maniac. To enhance the effect, I generally smile broadly when I see new people and giggle to myself softly the whole time they're plying their Jesus.

The no-clothes-maniac routine works so well, I've started stripping when people ring my bell even in the middle of the day, afternoon, or evening. I quickly wet my hands, muss up my hair, and shuffle to the door. I know I've accomplished my goal when whomever is calling jumps back in horror when I fling open the door and start grinning like a nut. If I could only smell worse...

Several months ago, I went bowling on a Friday night. Had a great time. That Saturday morning I woke up early (heaven knows why), and was milling around the house, dressed in the clothes I'd worn the night before. I SMELLED like I'd spent the night in a strip-joint. Not hard to imagine, really: The bowling alley was filled with smoke and I had perspired in my clothes that night. I heard some folks shuffling around outside and opened the door just as an elderly gentleman with a light-bulb was about to ring the bell.

Evangelists. They must not have gotten the memo. He looked shocked at my appearance (even though I was fully clothed, I probably had food stains and I know my hair was a wreck). He and hist little band of proselytizers stepped back when the smell hit them. "Uh, good morning, sir, I'm sorry to have woken you, but I'd like to invite you to our special services this week." Giggling, I replied, "No, you didn't wake me hahahahahah I've been up for HOURS!" He handed me the light-bulb, simultaneously backing away, "Jesus is the light of the world. We'll pray for you." They left rather quickly. I put the bulb in a burned out fixture in my den.

Technorati Tags:evangelists, waking up, scary, morning

Saying "I'm Sorry"

Never ruin an apology with an excuse. ~Kimberly Johnson

The other week I had a long conversation with a friend of mine who had made a mistake. I don't recall the mistake, but she was heartbroken. She had hurt a friend and didn't know how to fix it. She explained to me the circumstances and kept providing reasons for her actions. I remember stopping her and saying, "Dear, there should be no 'BUT' after 'I'm Sorry'." I could tell she was already rehearsing her apology with me.

Before someone accuses me of twisting facts or thinly veiling my thoughts: I honestly don't remember who she was -- I remember it being a girl. I also don't remember what the mistake was.

I'm really good at apologizing. I've had to be; I make so many mistakes that I get plenty of practice. Often, when someone walks up to me, I begin apologizing immediately. It's safer that way. I'm almost always sure I've done something wrong.

I've learned that the shortest apology is the best: "I'm sorry." Especially with women. Trying to explain one's actions is a sure fire way to make a woman madder.

It's okay to define what you're apologizing for, but be careful. If you say, "I'm sorry for backing over your flowers with my bulldozer," and the person isn't mad about that, but rather, is mad because their pet hamster was in the flowers at the time, you may come off as insensitive. If someone is angry and you're hoping an apology will make it better, be sure why they're angry before you start.

I'll state the obvious: Don't apologize unless you're sincere. Nothing is worse than an insincere apology. If you regret your actions, admit it. If you're not sincere, don't bother opening your mouth, please. Notice, I didn't write, "If you regret the consequences of your actions," above. Apologizing to get what YOU want or to make YOU feel better is a lame-ass reason to apologize. You should apologize simply because you were wrong or because you hurt someone.

Back to the "but" of this story: Seriously, we often take the meat out of an apology by saying "but" after "I'm sorry". Trying to place the blame elsewhere invalidates an apology. To apologize means to admit that YOU have made a mistake -- it's no one's fault but your own. Allow the person you're apologizing to provide an excuse; often times they will when they figure out you're not trying to weasel out of it with a "but" statement. If they don't provide an excuse, don't fret. You've done your part -- you've admitted your mistake and taken responsibility for it. The proper response to an offered apology is to accept it. The proper response to an apology is to forgive.

Technorati Tags:I'm sorry, apology, relationships

None for me, thank you, I'm sucking toads

Damien Rice - 2879
Originally uploaded by mjecker.

I had a chance to see Damien Rice in concert tonight. I could have seen him from seats in the first few rows, center, at the Orpheum Theater in Memphis.

I knew he was coming to Memphis several months ago and I mentioned to a friend of mine, a concert promoter, that I'd like some good seats. My hope was that she could finagle me some orchestra seats, fairly close, at a good price. She called last week and left me a voicemail: "Hey, I've got you some tickets. Dead center somewhere in the first 10 rows. Call me back." I didn't call her. I knew already that I would be in Conway this week.

I suppose I could have driven from Conway to Memphis tonight, but it would have been irresponsible and a fairly arduous journey. I also knew that I probably couldn't find anyone willing to put up with the hassle of meeting me there under such strange circumstances. Adrienne might have met me, but...

So, Damien is singing in Memphis and I'm in stuck in the home of the Toad Suck Daze Festival. "No, no tickets for me, please, I'm sucking toads in Arkansas." I thought about calling Andrea (my friend with tickets back) with that reply. I thought again and it occurred to me I might need tickets to something else and I shouldn't make a joke of refusing the tickets. Thank you for the offer, Andrea, perhaps next time.

You know when you've found it,
There's something I've learned
'Cause you feel it when they take it away
- "Amie" by Damien Rice

Technorati Tags:Damien Rice, Memphis, Concert, Music

Just a regular roast beef sandwich, please

I had lunch at Arby's in Conway, Arkansas yesterday. I like beef; I like Arby's. I'm a fan of the roast beef and cheddar sandwich (with bacon, sometimes). I'd had breakfast yesterday, which is unusual, so I wasn't terribly hungry. My plan was simple: Order regular roast beef sandwich, drink bottle of water in van, return to work.

I visited the Arby's -- a brand new facility in a strip mall. My cashier was Ed, a developmentally disabled adult.

Ed: Hello, welcome to Arby's, my name is Edward. People call me Ed. They say Ed is cooler than Edward. Can I take your order?
Me: Yes, thank you Ed, I'd like a regular roast beef sandwich to go, please.
Ed: Yes sir, that'll be a regular roast-beef sandwich. Are you working today? Would you like some fries with that?
Me: Yeah, I'm working today -- right down the road.
Ed: Great! So, that's a regular roast beef sandwich with fries. You wanted curly fries, right? How 'bout a drink? So, are you from out of town?
Me: Yes, I'm from out of town. I've got some water in the van.
Ed: So, that's a large roast-beef combo with curly fries. That's a nice phone -- does it take pictures? Would you like a cherry turnover with your meal?
Me: No, uh, yeah, it's a picture phone. I take lots of pictures.
Ed: Wonderful, that's really neat. So that's a large roast beef combo with curly fries and a cherry turnover. Your total is $7.71.

To summarize: I wanted a regular roast beef sandwich -- that's all. I ended up with a large roast beef sandwich, curly fries, a drink, and a cherry pie/turnover thing.

Someone is teaching Ed the delicate art of up-selling -- and he's learning well.

One might speculate that Ed was exploiting my reluctance to challenge him due to his developmental disability to sell me more food. If that is the case, Ed is pretty sharp. I won't go there.

Technorati Tags:Arby's, developmental disability, Conway, AR, roast beef

Amazing, Amazing, Amazing...

"Amazing. Amazing. Amazing." That's all I could say tonight as I dined at Mike's Place in Conway, Arkansas. I sent out a broadcast text message to my friends saying just that, "Amazing, it's worth the drive just to eat here." It's four and a half hours from home. I could easily justify that.

The decor is pretty neat; nothing terribly eclectic. Very warm, lots of wood, brick, and some traditional paintings on the walls. There were some romantic niches, and some open banqueting areas. On the whole, the place could best be described as "cavernous". The place is FREAKIN HUGE. I couldn't believe it when I walked inside. They were packed; on a Tuesday night; huge restaurant; barely any tables. They stuck me in a back corner and I was glad to have a chair.

The service was excellent. My waiter, Josh, is 30 years old and is from Conway. He's been working at the restaurant since it opened. The same company that owns Mike's Place is opening another restaurant, more directly Italian themed, and Josh will be the General Manager there, he said. He was attentive, polite, knowledgeable, and stayed out of the way unless I needed something. There were a few times when my water glass became empty and stayed that way longer than I would have liked (I'm a heavy drinker when I eat, you know), but he was serving several tables and it wasn't a big deal. I can't stress enough how confident and excellent the service was.

I had, as an appetizer, their "Shrimp and Cheese Fritters". They surely must have been made in-house. I can't imagine a prepared food company supplying something like that. Amerigo (the chain Italian place) has something similar, but not the same. These were a bit spicy, full of good, smooth cheese, and the shrimp added that "little something extra".

For my main course, Josh recommended that I try a platter -- which allowed me to pick two of the regular entrées (smaller portions) and two of their side dishes which they call "lagniappe". Lagniappe means "an unexpected gift" or a "little more" in Louisiana French. I chose the Crawfish and Shrimp Étouffée and the Blackened Chicken Alfradeaux with Red Peppers. As my sides I had Red Beans and Rice and some Sweet Potato Fries. The Étouffée was excellent -- plenty of flavor and taste, but not too spicy (some people like it spicy, I don't). The pasta was very good, chicken well flavored, good pasta. The beans and rice were also excellent. The Sweet Potato Fries were a bit disappointing, but I didn't know what to expect. It may have been that I was eating highly flavored food and the sweet fries just couldn't compete with the onslaught of other tastes in my mouth. Oh, and the "small portions" were HUGE.

It was obvious that almost none of the food came from a prepared food vendor (or if it did, it was very high quality). It appeared that the dishes had been prepared on site and to exacting standards. The quality of the food, again, was EXCEPTIONAL.

My bill, tax and all, was $26.44.

The only mistake I made today was eating lunch, I couldn't even think about dessert.

I've eaten at some great places; five-star restaurants and holes-in-the-wall. This is far and away the most amazing random restaurant into which I've ever stumbled. It is WORTH THE DRIVE to Conway, Arkansas to eat at Mike's Place. If you can find a play or a concert, go for it, but don't wait -- make some plans now to dine with these guys.

Technorati Tags:Mike's Place, Conway, AR, Arkansas, Food, Dining

"Thinning hair"

I went to a dinner party a few months ago and noticed in some of the pictures (most of the pictures were embarrassing) that my bald spot is spreading. Yes. I have a receding hairline -- and I think that's sexy an a bit distinguished. The bald spot bothers me. I'm not terribly self-concious about ANYTHING -- you know that, but this isn't the first picture that the spot has jumped out at me.

Probably three years ago -- at the lake -- Tori first pointed out my thinning spot; Patrick and I were comparing hairlines (he's known as "the human forehead" in some circles) and Tori said, "Oooo, look, Nathan's got a bald spot." I thought nothing of it -- it was early in the morning and none of us had showered or primped (we never did on lake mornings). I figured it was just the way my hair was laying that morning. Somewhere in the last few years it's grown.

I asked the lady who cuts my hair about it a few weeks ago -- had she noticed it. "Yes, Nathan, you've always had fine thick hair, but there is a 'weak' spot developing." I asked my Mom about it -- why hadn't she told me, "I thought you knew," she said, "and besides, both your grandfathers were bald by their early thirties." EGAD! Early thirties! Bald Spot! Why didn't someone tell me!!!!!!

I give up
Originally uploaded by churl.

So, I was talking with a friend of mine the other day -- as she was spiking my hair, I think -- and I asked HER about the bald spot. "Yes, Nathan, it's there." She giggled -- not about the bald spot, hopefully, but because she was about to make me look like a punk-wanna-be or something. "What am I to do?" I asked. "You could shave your head -- or get some Rogaine."

Alright. That's an answer I can live with. I like to fix things. If I have a flat tire, I patch it with fix-a-flat or get a new tire. If I have an itch, I put some cream on it. If I have a bald spot, I can smear some foam on it. I mentioned it to my parents, "I'd like some Rogaine (and a tandem bicycle) for my birthday."

Tonight, before I left the house, my mother gave me some Rogaine foam in a sack, "Here son, I got this for you." My cousin Jimmy shared an uplifting joke before I walked out the door:

Son, people say a men whose hair is thinning up front are great THINKERS. You know men whose hair is thinning in back are great LOVERS. If it's thinning in front and in back it means you THINK you're a great LOVER.

He cackled. I smirked. I'm thinning in the back; draw your own conclusions.

I'm going to make my first application to my "warm dry scalp" tonight before bed. I'll let you know.

Technorati Tags:bald spot, Rogaine, thinning hair

Autoharps and "music"

My cousin James W. Harrison ("Jimmy") brought me an Autoharp a month or two ago. I'd told him that I wanted to learn to play the guitar so he brought TWO guitars and this handy little rhythm instrument made my Oscar Schmidt.

I've not mastered the guitar yet. I'm working on it -- not nearly hard enough, probably. The Autoharp, however, is a dream to play. I think knowing something about music if helpful -- chords and such, but I suspect anyone could learn given the time. Mother Maybelle Carter is the best known player, I think, but there are many more.

So, I'm playing the thing fairly regularly. I copied some pages from one of Lindsay's bluegrass books and can play all of them. I've got some Hank Williams, Sr. books that are lots of fun.

My reviews, however, are mixed. Justin says I'm doing great (and that makes me feel good). The few times I've played for my parents, they just want me to sing along -- I don't think they know the songs. Lindsay just laughs (which hurts a bit, I think, but maybe she's laughing for joy at my talent -- yeah, that's it).

Here's a rough sample... What do you think? (Just hit the play button.)

Justin and I have played in church once and just messed around with the AutoHarp and Piano a few times. I'd like to get a string band of some sort together. I need a guitar player and a banjo picker. I think the undertaker from Rutherford would probably play upright bass, if I asked him. Lindsay doesn't seem very receptive to fiddle playing, but perhaps someone (other than me) could work on her.

I'd never heard of an Autoharp (or at least thought of one more than a second) before seeing the movie Walk The Line. What are/were your impressions? Lots of people seem to think it's an instrument for grade-school teachers (and I know several that do play), but isn't really a serious instrument.

Technorati Tags:autoharp, bluegrass, music, recordings, Angel Band

She doesn't deserve you

I was in the midst of a conversation tonight where one friend said to another, among other things, "She doesn't deserve you." It was a funny conversation, filled with expletives not appropriate for this venue, but it got me to thinking about that statement.

"She doesn't deserve you"

So, is that a good things -- as in, "You're too good for her, she doesn't deserve you"? That's a positive and uplifting statement meant to make the man or woman feel good himself or herself.

Or, is it a bad thing, as in, "You're crazy nuts, she doesn't deserve [someone like] you"? That's funny -- honesty from one friend to another.

That makes me think of the quote form Oliver Wendell Holmes from his work The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table:

Don't flatter yourself that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your intimates. The nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Except in cases of necessity, which are rare, leave your friend to learn unpleasant things from his enemies; they are ready enough to tell them.

Of course, later in the conversation, I heard, "You deserve better." Which clarified the conversation a bit. I laughed inside; I thought it best to keep my thoughts to myself.

Technorati Tags:relationships, romance, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., truth

More on "Wagon Wheel"

I know I've already blogged today, but I was reading a bit about Old Crow and found this link to a recent blog about the song "Wagon Wheel" released by Old Crow.

Talking with Tim and Chad (who I mentioned in my previous entry today) about the song last night, none of us could remember the story behind the song. We knew that Old Crow had most recently made the song famous, but we also knew that in fact, it was a cover of someone else's song. Chad was convinced that it was Alison Kraus and Tim agreed with him -- probably to get him to shut up. I knew that wasn't right, but I couldn't remember the story. Now, thanks to the miracle of the interweb, we find the true story on the Nine Bullets blog. Yeah. It's a Bob Dylan song which he never completed for a move I've never seen. Oh well....

The neatest thing about that link, though, is that they're offering several different versions of the song for download. If you'd like a copy of these different versions and can't download for some reason, let me know. I'll divshare them to you... Cool beans!

Technorati Tags:Old Crow Medicine Show, Music, Bob Dylan

"Wagon Wheel" and Destin Nights

My day has become pretty standard: I sleep until around 11, hit the beach at about noon, return to the condo at about 3, eat supper around 5:30 and I'm at the Village (clubs) by 9:15 or so.

My favorite hangout has been Mango's Paradise Grille, a neat little outdoor cantina at "the Village". They've got live music each night and the brew selection is outstanding. I've managed to make it through all the drafts and I'm working my way through the bottles now. I'm hoping to have sampled their entire menu by the time I leave. The wait staff their is friendly, the owner is great, and the crowd is as diverse as I could imagine.

My bartenders since Sunday have either been Haley or Charles (click the pic to the left for a larger one). Haley is from Auburn, Alabama, Charles is from everywhere, apparently. They're engaged to be married, have a neat little condo not far from here, and work two or three jobs each. Haley and Charles love the Destin life. I dunno if I could put up with a bunch of tourist drunks 7 days a week, but they seem to be just fine. It's probably a personality thing that I just don't have; after about 7 hours, I had little patience for drunk buttholes when I was on Beale Street.

The owner of the place is a guy named Keith and his wife, Shelly. I met them last year when the place first opened. Keith owns some sort of steel fabricating place in Atlanta, but he and Shelly's dream was to open a restaurant and bar on the beach -- last year they made it a reality. I think Keith's main motivation, in addition to making his wife happy, was to find a place they'd let him sing anytime he wanted. I found out this week that the guy is an amazing vocalist.

Along the way I've met some other interesting folks. You're not surprised, if you know me, I'm sure:

Dwayne: The 29 year old Australian Spa Consultant. Dwayne travels the world consulting at 5 star spas and resorts. He and I got into some pretty great trouble the other night after we left Mango's. Remind me to tell you about it. Not quite the highlight of my trip, but it was certainly a great boost for the evening.

Justin: 30 something Navy guy -- he's taking a bomb disposal class at Pensacola Naval Air Station. He's been all over the middle east and has got some serious stories to tell. He was most interested in talking to me, however, about the "Purple Church" in Memphis. He was really bummed out to hear that it had closed. We swapped some stories.

Tina and Shelia: Mother and daughter. As Shelia said, "Mom bought a pair and so did I!" Tina likes to dance. Shelia likes to dance. We got along well. Shelia's tube-top made things interesting -- and she had one of those pony-tails that sticks out the back of her cap which I think are so cute. I wish I had a picture (oh how I wish I had a picture!). Tina kept grabbing my butt. That was strange and slightly unnerving.

Jerry: 70 something year old real-estate investment guy -- he was with Tina, but seemed more interested in Shelia. Me too. He's got property all up and down the gulf-coast. I bet I know what Tina sees in him.

Paula: The 25 year old "Turtle Girl" from FSU. She was coming up the beach on Tuesday with probes and shovels and all sort of stuff. I didn't know if she was trying to set up a beach volley-ball course or set up a landing field for aliens. I discovered, on asking, that she was doing sea-turtle research for the Master's Degree. Fascinating, really. We spent several minutes talking about sea-turtles... Amazingly, she showed up again yesterday, but now she was taking in the beach as a tourist. I didn't know it was her until she came over to talk again. We met up at Mango's and then went dancing like rhythm-less white people. She had too much "mango tea". 'Nuff said.

This list doesn't include Chad B, "the executive" from Anniston, AL, who's here apparently to debauch under-age women. He works at GameStop as a manager of some sort He says he's NOT a redneck, but I find that hard to believe. Nor does the above list include Tamara, who is here a few days early for a Porn Star Convention. She doesn't look like an actress, but some of her friends do. Maybe she's the producer or something.

Tim, the guitar player, and his wife have performed at two of the places I've been hanging out (Mango's and Fat Tuesday). They played "Wagon Wheel" by Old Crow last night. I thought I was gonna die -- I danced with a lovely young lady from NC 'cause I noticed she was singing too.. :) Both the girl from NC and Tim the musician were incredibly jealous that I saw Old Crow a few weeks back.

There are more strange folks to document.. perhaps I'll get around to it.

I'm headed back to the beach in a few -- gonna try to even out my burn/tan. Call me! I'd love to hear from you, I'm sure!

Update: I've written More on Wagon Wheel

Technorati Tags:Destin, FL, Florida, Destin, Mango's Paradise Grille, Women, Relationships, Vacation, Bars, Sandestin, Old Crow Medicine Show

I'm an Australian!

Sandestin's Village at Baytowne Wharf
Originally uploaded by chiacomo.

I'm not a beach fan, really. The sun is fine, but I'm fair skinned. The sand is fine, but it gets in all my shoes. I like the night life; I like to boogie.

For years, there's been little to do after dark except to wander the beach looking for "friends". Now, thanks to the miracle of modern development, one can party and "club" into the wee hours of the morning at Sandestin's "Village at Baytowne Wharf". There are 4 GREAT nightclubs and at least one good neighborhood bar (where folks remember your name). All this little country boy has to do is board the free tram and cross the highway and I'm set to go.

Tonight I met the nicest guy from Australia named Dwayne. He was friendly enough, has a neat job and stuff. The BEST thing about Dwayne, though, is that he's from Australia. WOMEN LOVE GUYS WITH FUNNY ACCENTS. I won't go into details, but I'll say that I don't mind being lumped into the Australian crowd at the clubs at Baytowne Wharf. It was the funniest thing; 19 and 21 year old coeds kept screaming, "They're from Australia!!!!" Of course, being the gentleman that I am, I kept stressing that HE was an Aussie, but I was from Tennessee. Even with my carefully cultivated Tennessee drawl, they didn't seem to notice. Apparently, for tonight, I TOO was from Australia. My new nationality served me well. She was 21, I swear.

Technorati Tags:Destin, FL, Women, bars, Sandestin

Love in the 21st century

Love spelt on keyboard
Originally uploaded by Kevin White Images.

The other day a friend was telling me that her boyfriend was on a mission trip abroad. She asked me, "Do you think he'll be able to text me from there?" She asked me this over an instant messenger (Yahoo, I think, but I use Pidgin/GaIM to aggregate all my IM services) -- I almost always communicate with this friend via email or instant message.

I told her I was unsure -- she'd just have to wait and see. This got me to thinking about my relationships over the last five years and how much of those relationships was conducted "online" or via text message or even telephone, and not in person or through regular mail. I realized that LOTS of my "romantic communication" was conducted via new-fangled technological means. I've flirted on MySpace, wooed over instant messenger, and teased via text message. I've sent online greeting cards and written poetry on web-pages.

In the old days people courted in person. Your beau might show up at the house on a Sunday afternoon (because he worked the rest of the week) and sit with you and your family in your parlor or kitchen. If you were lucky, Ma and Pa might allow you some time alone with him. As the years moved on, young people went to movies and dances. I'm sure the telephone was a boon to lovestruck boys as they whispered fervently across the line to a swooning sweetie. I know I've spent hours on the phone with women and realized that we talked about absolutely nothing -- and I can still smile about it.

There was a time, before instant messages and cell-phone texts, when people sent love letters and notes. Sometimes it took days or even weeks to receive a perfumed letter, all the while the sender wondering how it might be received. Now, we can know within minutes or even seconds how our flirtings or expressions of affection are received; we can adapt and respond just as quickly.

We're probably much more cautious, in a way, these days. As a male, I know I constantly try to adapt to the mood of a woman, whether in person or online. Women are cagey creatures whose thoughts are veiled to men. Where once I might write a flowing missive pouring out adoration, I now write short quips, trying to gauge if she's receptive to my advances. Were you to write me a passionate message, pouring your soul into an emotional email, who knows how long it would take me to click "Forward" and send it on to my buddies -- especially if I weren't receptive to your advances. (Know, ladies, that I would never do that, of course, but some would and have -- I've gotten such forwards and so have you.)

I read a blog the other day of a guy living in Memphis who met a girl in January and was engaged at the end of April. That's FAST to me. I know social mores and expectations have changed and there's nothing wrong with that, but, reading in his blog how he texted and emailed and waited on the "beep-beep-beep" indicating a new message, I wonder how fast his courtship was accelerated due to technology. Would she be wearing a diamond engagement ring if he had plied his troth so quickly sixty years ago?

Have we lost something due to the immediacy of communication? I don't know. I know that I have written long and passionate letters and actually mailed them and they're almost always well-received. Has "courtship" been hastened through the use of instant messages and email? I don't know, but I've certainly been turned down before I ever had the chance to open my mouth in person.

Technorati Tags:love, relationships, new technology, email

Fashion for geeks, thanks women-folk!

I've got lots of women in my life -- I get lots of fashion advice, advice about how to act, what to wear. I'm pretty luck. The other morning, I had a long conversation with Marilyn and Judy in our office. I had lost some weight and Judy knew that. I asked about pants and how I generally didn't like the pants I was wearing because they weren't cuffed.

I always wear cuffed pants, but Judy said, "You shouldn't wear cuffed pants." Cuffs are out and pleats are out, apparently. You know, all of my pants are pleated, except for maybe two pair. I guess I like pleats 'cause my dad has always worn pleats. That's what they bought me when I was young. Old habits are hard to break.

Flat fronted pants -- they're a new thing for me. I need to check that out.

I've got women in my life that help me with my "fashion". Some of them are older women, like Judy and Marilyn and my mother. Some of them are younger women, like Liz, who told me last year to "loosen up". I started with untucking my shirt and wearing tennis shoes. Now I've even got a woven belt with no loops -- it's like a strap around my waist. It's not leather, it's simpe cloth.I like it. I've also got some flip-flops (or "thongs" as the Europeans" call them). Flip flops are a big step for me, you know.

Some of these women are older, huggable women. Some of these women are foks I cuddle with; some are folks I'd like to cuddle with. I have an interesting life with so many women trying to help me.

I found a website the other day, which I've shared with some of you, called "Fashion for Nerds". My women-folk aren't wrong, according to this website.

What other advice can you give me?





Technorati Tags: fashion, geeks, personal

New office manager - with dragonfly

We have a new office manager. I've known her for several years; she used to work for one of our customers. She's been of about a year and a half. They expect her to be "tough" on us, but we'll see. She's very sweet, very competent, etc etc... Our customers appear to like her so far.

She also makes me "as nervous as a cat". She's trying to catch on so very quickly. Trying to corral me -- which is part of her job, I'm told. Trying to understand how I work and how to interpret what I say. She's been asking for explanations of the processes which are my job; the paperwork, the way to handle my callers and certain customers. I'm glad to share all that, of course, but I'm also trying to wrap up like a THOUSAND loose ends before I leave for Destin on Sunday. So, I'm fidgety and trying to get lots done and she's trying to work. It'll work out and I'm not unhappy.

Judy wore the neatest blouse (or shirt, according to Adrienne) today. It had an embroidered dragonfly on the upper left quadrant. I thought at first that it was a brooch, but it's actually part of the shirt. She bought it at the Kellwood outlet, she said.

Dragonflies are said to represent new light and joy. Some cultures, however, view them as evil or sinister things -- the "devil's needle" or "ear cutter" -- and are linked to injury. I prefer to focus on the positive symbolism -- some Native American tribes say they represent swiftness and activity. Some tribes see them as a symbol of renewal after a time of hardship. The Japanese see courage, happiness and strength.

I just thought it was a neat shirt (or blouse) or whatever.




Technorati Tags: office, work, dragonfly, change

"Scary Jesus" is gone!

Those of you who have traveled with me, or by yourself, between Humboldt and Bells (perhaps on your way to Memphis) may remember passing this lovely yard ornament affectionately known among my circle of friends and acquaintances as "Scary Jesus". A local landowner, presumably in the spirit of roadside evangelism, created a welded-metal depiction of a crucified Jesus. With its exposed metal ribs and rust arms hanging from the cross, it was truly disturbing (especially on seeing it the first time). Some comic relief was provided by the kneeling cowboy and horse silhouette beneath the cross.



I remember the first time Lindsay saw it while we were traveling to Memphis in November 2006. She said, "What the hell is that?" Of course, I immediately stopped and turned around so she could get a better look. Since then she's warned me sternly not to slow down.



In the past few months it appears that someone has begun construction on what seems to be a church on the site. A new building was erected behind and to the right of Scary Jesus. It seems to be a metal frame building. Lots of earth work has been done (perhaps to prepare a parking lot).



I passed by the lot Friday last week and notice that SCARY JESUS IS GONE. No, Scary Jesus didn't climb down from the cross. The whole tableau is missing: no cross, no Jesus, no kneeling cowboy and horse. I'm hoping Scary Jesus will be back; it's certainly a conversation starter (and sometimes stopper).



The small pictures here don't really do it justice. Click the pic for a larger version.





Technorati Tags: scary jesus, jesus, evangelism, yard ornament

Feeling blue

I'm feeling a bit blue. I want nothing more than to do a certain thing, but I know I musn't. It wouldn't matter anyway. What I imagine the truth to be and the real, honest truth are two different things. I am weak. I am weak even to be writing this, but I feel like writing, so I am.



In my head I am making plans; plans that won't work out the way I imagine. I know, even thinking about them, that they'll never happen as I imagine. Imagination is an amazing thing. Fantasy is a release, but the reality following fantasy is a drag.



Why should I waste my emotional energy? I don't know. I know only that I am. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it go away. Time. Time. Time. That's what it'll take. I don't know if I'm strong enough to wait.





Technorati Tags: relationships, fantasy, blue, dumb