One in a Thousand Pictures, Tells a Thousand Words!!

A picture is worth a thousand words,
except when it’s not worth one.
Every picture tells a story,
except when it don’t tell none.
A heartbeat keeps the time of your life, if it can.
Every heartbeat, writes the story of every man.
When it’s over and the dying done,
all the pictures are lies, except maybe one.
All the smiles you gave away,
were simply lies you told each day.
Lies for the teachers, the preachers and the world,
lies from the broken, little boys and girls.
Pictures of happiness, fleeting moments at best,
covered the horror, covered the rest.
No pictures, no camera covers the worst,
no pictures, no camera can see the hurt.
Some go on, life on kodachrome,
It’s a life they only dreamed once,
It’s not a life of their own.
But they will live it, it may be they’re only chance,
for any chance they have is still a chance to dance.
Some will struggle through, unhappy to the end,
they’ll spread the word of abuse and let the cycle never end.
Others of us will overcome, do the best we can,
enduring the ability to see through the pictures, into the blackened heart of man.
The pictures at the beach, the pictures at the mall,
never tell the story, never tell it all.
One in a thousand pictures, tells a thousand words,
that picture is never seen, those words never heard.
A bruised and broken body, a shattered beaten face,
are tagged and cover then buried in their place.
Innocents in a cold, lonely room lying on a frigid slab,
Is the only real picture of an abused child that they will ever have.
Don’t worry, don’t despair, you never need know,
those pictures are for documentation, not one will ever show.
The mended ribs, the bruised thigh,
the hint of blood in the nose and ears, the dislodged eye,
makes the picture complete.
Wash them, wrap them, speak the last words they’ll hear.
I beg you make them sweet.

Ain't I Done told ya Woman

I swear, sometimes my wife thinks I’m twelve, but only when she’s being generous. Most times she thinks I’m nine, okay leave me alone, she thinks I’m six, there I admit it, I hope you’re happy. Most people know I’ve been quitting smoking for thirty days, today. I’m nowhere near as proud of myself as others seem to be, in fact I’d love to have a smoke with you and discuss it.
Still I’ve been walking and now riding a bike many times a day to burn off all the excessive energy that smoking took care of for so long. Since acquiring the bike last week, I’ve heard about one hundred and fifty times that I need a helmet. The worst part of this, for some reason the Spanish word for helmet is something very close to casket.
Bebe, (Baby to the rest of us) you need a casco, pronounced (casket).”
“No sweetheart you mean a helmet.”
“Yes Bebe a helmet, you need a helmet.”
“No way Baby, I’ve been riding bikes since I started walking, I don’t need a helmet.”
“Please Bebe.”
“No way Baby, I don’t mind looking like a girl, I just don’t want to look like the ugliest girl you’ve ever seen.”
Blinking her eyes innocently was her last plea.
“I’m not buying a helmet and that’s my last word on it, now let’s just go for a ride.”
When I was younger and would say something this stupid, I would whisper. Like I thought God couldn’t hear if I said it quietly. Now that I’m older it might be worse. I am still painfully aware that God likes to do things to me to make me eat my words, but now I state my words loud and proud for he and the whole world to hear.
After having a bicycle for a week or two, let me tell you a lesson I’ve learned. Wait you need a little more information first, that sentence should be the last one.
I’ve been running all over the area nearest my home acting like a fifty-one year old, fifteen year old. I’ve been jumping curbs, riding in and out of deep ditches, jumping crazy things, weaving in and out of traffic and flying down steep roads. I’ve attained speeds that make the front tire shimmy and shake.
All the while I’ve been riding ten times a day with no concern for my body and the knees that love it. I’ve been getting more tired and sore as it goes, but hey no cigarettes.
Saturday morning as I was leaving to take my first ride, I jumped on the bike, stood up on it and paddled to beat the band. I approached the curb on the other side of our parking lot, a curb I’ll jump and then shooting through a small piece of woods I’ll drop down a bank and jump out into the parking lot of a strip mall. I told you adventurous for a fifty-one year old.
I pushed hard on the pedal, jerked up on the handlebars, but had made a few miscalculations. The bike came up, but gravity is not a friend of mine and it came back down exactly on the edge of the curb. I am no physicist so cannot explain how it happened, but I flipped over the handlebars and was catapulted through the woods to the bank on the other side and tumbled out into the parking lot, followed closely by the cycle.
By Followed closely I mean it landed on top of me, good, at least I broke its fall, wouldn’t want to hurt the cycle. I wish I hadn’t been moving so fast, I wish I understood how I was thrown so far. I wish God wouldn’t try so hard to teach me stuff, I know a bunch of stuff already.
It’s funny how your mind works. The entire time, what seemed like two hours, I was flying though the air, I heard My Wife say, “Bebe you need a Casket.”
I then heard myself say, “No I don’t.” This went on until God was sure I got the message. After riding a bicycle for a week or two let me tell you a lesson I’ve learned, see I told ya I’d get back to this. I’ve learned that a bicycle will kill a fifty-one year old if he has no sense. It only took a broken toe to learn that one. It took fifteen minutes to figure out what was wrong with me; I should have been hurt much worse. The next time your wife tells you, you need a casket, please don’t make her mad or temp God, just shut up and buy one.

The Other Tennesseans!!

I was again unable to watch the entire game Saturday night due to scheduling conflicts. I really need to make enough money to ensure nothing interferes with my watching Georgia football. I did continue to sneak out of the other thing I was attending, to catch up on the game and see a few plays. Luckily both were happening at the Tate Student Center, on campus. There was a group of students watching the game whom brought me up to speed every time I returned. Thanks to that group of young, enthusiastic, female fans for all their help.
I’ve said it before, but it warrants repeating. If you’ve never been in Athens on a Saturday night, as a Georgia fan, then you haven’t lived. I arrived in the student lounge in time to watch most of the fourth quarter; it was packed and charged with excitement. Granted I nearly had a heart attack with 7 seconds to go and another with 1 to go. Why did Vandy decide to play its best game in two decades, last night and why did it have to be against us? I’ve got nothing but love for James Franklin and his Dores, what a game. With what happened in Tennessee over the last two weeks, it appears the SEC is about to get tougher.
Now for the fun stuff, the Commodores or the Dores as they’re called, got their name from a nickname given to the schools namesake. So their mascot is a hundred-fifty year old crusty, navy dude, complete with sideburns. I think he had the audacity to chase Uga around the field last night with his cutlass. In the end Uga had the opportunity to chew a little, old navy dude, rear end then came home with a chunk of it and little bits of black cloth, in his teeth.
This is twice now we’ve watched Tennessee teams pull out some crazy stuff, but it appears many teams are using unorthodox plays these days. Where is Vandy getting these plays? Did you see that half@&&, sorry halfback pass? Are their plays coming out of Cracker Jack boxes or coming wrapped around bubble gum?
Georgia is having a great season and it shows. Every week the crowd grows at the Tate Center and every week the atmosphere is more electrically charged, it’s a beautiful thing to watch. Different players continue to catch the fever and step up to make big plays, all of the team seems to be invested in this season.
Now we must prepare for Florida, for me the most important game of the year. Florida is a lame Gazelle, running blindly across the Savannah, on three legs, we are the lead Lion, it don’t suck. Still, we learned last night, anyone can surprise you, you better be payin attention. I’m proud of our boys. Goooooo Dawgs.
“At Vandy we’re going to compete with class and play with class. We lost to a good football team.” James Franklin 10/16/11

Georgia Finds a Season

I thought last week was like a bad episode of the Jerry Springer show. It was hard enough to speak of bulldogs without thinking of them as some sort of branch kin. Now I’ve got to make fun of a team with a close Bulldawg family member at the helm. Writing these stories isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I may say a lot of things in this story, but none of them will be about a certain little, baby, Dooley. Barbara will not be getting on me, I assure you.
So it turns out Georgia had a football season all along, it was simply hiding under a rock in Tennessee. The game was kind of a nail biter, but we really had it from start to finish. It was a little hard to watch seeing as how we didn’t know we had it, until we did. I didn’t breathe until Mark started across the field. There was that time early in the game where an official decided a leg touching the ball was more a sign of possession that two hands gripping it. Then in the forth, we were 4th and 57, I’ve never seen that before and don’t want to see it again. I almost started drinking, smoking and cussing again in a matter of just a few minutes. How about that Tennessee player who ran a football that had been dead so long it was decomposing, all the way to the goalposts, good Lord. Can’t say we didn’t have a chance to throw the game away, cause we did, I’m glad we didn’t take it.
There was never any doubt that Tennessee arrived to play football. I may joke about the caliber of a team’s players and or their cheerleaders. There was never a question which was which. Those boys played their hearts out, I salute them.
I was in the Navy years ago and learned that NAVY stands for never again volunteer yourself. Man, it feels good to say these next words, who wants to volunteer to have their behind kicked by Georgia? Well maybe their quarterback who is from California. Poor kid volunteered to move to Tennessee and then volunteered to have his behind kicked. I’ve got one word for ya Bray, NAVY.
The coaching staff for Tennessee probably started back to drinking, smoking or whatever vices they may have had, after last night’s game. Wait Barbara; before you get on me, I’m sure Derek never did all those things in the first place. I’m pretty sure he did everything right and stood outside the stadium after the game helping little old ladies cross the street.
I’ve got a feeling this game will get harder to watch each year, knowing the cloth Derek is cut from and the future he certainly has in the SEC. Let’s just hope it isn’t a future which includes a long winning streak against us, we’ve had enough of that.
“Can’t run the ball, if we can’t run the ball, we’re not going to beat good SEC teams.”
“We’ll get em, our time will come, we’re not there yet.” Derek Dooley
Is there any chance in the grand scheme of thing he’ll end up in Georgia one day? That’s about as likely as fast food restaurants getting your order right; it’s nice to think about, but just doesn’t happen. All the planets would need to line up perfectly and that only occurs once every million years or so. Besides we want Mark to have his chance to go down in Bulldawg history as a Bulldawg legend. Derek Dooley will have his day, in his way, somewhere in the SEC and you can tell his Mom I said so, please.
We got Uga or we’re supposed to, they have a dog too, Smokey, is a blue tick hound. Basically that’s an old dog who hunts, fishes, smokes, drinks, plays cards and has those funky redneck teeth. Was that about Smokey or the cheerleaders, I lost my place for a moment? Wait, wait, wait, I forgot his more important functions, he’s the teams math tutor, he’s the cheerleader’s make up consultant, he’s the faculty’s confidant and the team’s best shot at a Heisman trophy winner.
So now we need to get ready for Vanderbilt, which I think consists of eating a few Varsity chili dogs, drinking a few fruit smoothies, playing a scrimmage game against a high school team and getting our cheerleaders hair and nails done.
“I just want you to be nice and fair and know you probably got the greatest coach in the country.” Barbara Dooley. You go Barbara, when Mark is ready to retire and if we can’t have Derek when he’s gone, my vote is cast for you.

Occupied Territory, Athens, Georgia.

It rained all day Monday October 10th, the temperature dropped slightly and was showing signs of fall. No walking, no cycling and the day perfect for staying inside. At 11:00 P.M. the scarce light surrounding the UGA Arch was dim and fuzzy, it being influenced by the still, misty evening. They were there, just as reported. If someone believes strongly enough to be out in it, then someone should be paying enough attention to report on it. “Who do I speak to for an interview?” The question asked. “Anyone, we are all leaders, there are no leaders.” The answer given. The group, as a whole was migrating to the Holmes/Hunter Academic Building. It seemed to be a good place to interview or take a little footage. It is interesting to note, this footage was shot on the very steps that in 1961, Charlayne Hunter-Gualt and Hamilton Holmes, were escorted up, to become Georgia’s first Afro American students. Mrs. Gualt went on to be the first Black graduate from the school. No definable leader was making it hard to tape the lack of light was also a problem. “Just turn on the camera, it’ll be fine.” I did. It was clear as soon as the camera started that this movement has no proclaimed leader, but is rich in leadership. A group of forty, possibly more members, all young, recited their mission statement simultaneously and then each added their own personal contribution. None ridiculous, extreme or ignorant and none rooted in the general political stupidity the country seems to be suffering. The only concern about being leaderless, if there is a vacuum someone will fill it and that someone might not be a good someone. While the media has been trying to mostly ignore the movement, the rest of the nation and world are paying attention, via the internet. The unions seem to be embracing it, no surprise; they need a new movement, to keep them busy. Again not necessarily a good thing, but politics or freedom makes strange bedfellows. Any country with strong hatred for our country is all over it, they want to cause us as many problems as possible, no surprise, but that cannot stop our system from working. Where is Jesse Jackson in all this, I’m just asking and wishing I hadn’t The general concept as I see it, they are trying to wake up the ninety-nine percent of Americans adversely affected by the manipulation of our government by the one percent with enough money to influence it. They believe the American Government is wearing a leash and the people who control Wall Street are firmly holding that leash. In effect they believe we are dead horses and Wall Street continues to beat us as we bleed in the streets. Is it possible that our burden as tax payers, has strangled the life from us as we slept? Will we eventually find puppet masters hiding somewhere in the stage curtains? We may, but at this moment the movement seems to have diverse supporters and detractors. It seems the world holds an interest in the outcome and indeed it does. Pay attention there may be a test, as people and organizations scramble to associate or disassociate themselves with this cause. When our enemy’s are this excited about a thing, it might change our minds. When people so completely support or condemn something, it might change the country. When 780 people will be arrested for a thing, in a matter of days, it might change the world.

The Bread of death

The air holds crispness, the temperature just right and peace rises on the planet as the sun dispels the night. My wife emerges to this lovely scene, as birds dance around her as an aura in a dream. How cold one be unaffected by such a wondrous sight, as little winged beauties encircle her in flight.
With her pinky turned out, her nose turned up and a smile upon her face, she pulls off little bits of bread and tosses them into space. The meal welcomed, the love received, the little wisps, dive toward the meal with speed, and grabbing hurriedly they take back to flight, for the meal must wait, until they alight. Alight they do and feed they try, but that whole wheat bread is just too dry.
Okay sorry that kind of snuck in there. I swear I saw her try to feed whole wheat bread to some birds the other day; they won’t or possibly can’t, eat it. Have you ever had a whole wheat biscuit, I’d rather eat goat eyeballs and grits? My wife and most of her friends only eat whole wheat; I’m not talking about honey wheat, raisin bread or one of the other crossbreeds which can actually be swallowed, but the stuff used during the Spanish inquisition to torture people. The stuff that little Dutch boy poked into the damn with his pudgy little finger. The stuff several tire companies experimented with, as tire recap material, but gave up on as it was too dangerous to be used on the highways. The highway department has its limits, imagine a piece of it, the size of a semi truck tire, flipping through the air toward your windshield. Bread used around the world by religious zealots who practice self flagellation. Chant, slap yourself on the back with a whip, embedded with little shards of glass and eat a bite of whole wheat bread, whew, that’s a tough life. Maybe it’s the only bread approved by cults around the world, this bread is approved by the international association of whacko’s, its right on the label. You may not dance, drink, let your hair down, show your ankles or face, but you can eat bread as long as you don’t enjoy it.
After a minute or two the birds figure out, what remotely looks like bread, is actually a primitive weapon resembling a boomerang which won’t come back. If some unlucky little fella gets hit in the head with a piece, about the size of a quarter, he’s done, death by whole wheat bread. Was this stuff invented to punish unruly children or to feed to wives to keep them in line during medieval times?
Many theories exist, but my thoughts are, it was invented during prehistoric times as a weapon. The cavemen had clubs, then spears and fire, but they didn’t really get kicked off until they invented whole wheat. This discovery marked the beginning of the dinosaur’s decline. A whack upside the head of a forty foot pterodactyl, with a loaf of unsliced wheat bread and you had dinner for a month. A single slice thrown like a Frisbee and you could attain the kind of accuracy, rifling added to the gun. It was eventually replaced by the boomerang as at least they would come back. What chance did poor old dinosaurs have against men with such advanced weaponry? Talk about weapons of mass destruction. What do they call petrified 64 million year old bread, whole wheat?
Alright you get the point, I don’t like brown bread, I keep hearing that it’s better for us, but I’ve already given up smoking, cursing and drinking, that should be enough. I can only hope it’s not a requirement to eat a piece of wheat bread without a two liter Coke, to enter the pearly gates, if it is, that would explain why people in Hades want ice water, they’re doomed to eternity trying to swallow a piece of bread.
Now let’s try to get serous for a moment. I was at the Fall Line Festival yesterday and as usual had a great time. I was told by a large number of people that the fireworks display from Friday night was the best ever and that the Gordon Better Home Town will have a hard time topping it next year. The music seems to get better each year, great job by all concerned. I was visited by many friends, family and readers, I don’t know if I’ll make it next year, as I have plans to travel outside the country, if I don’t, I’ll miss it. As to the implication I’m living under a bridge in Milledgeville writing these stories, instead of traveling, that was the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time, thanks I needed the laugh.

Grandma Has a Video Camera

(The story of an Average American Girl)

In recognition of Hispanic Heritage Month 2011, the Museum of Art at UGA, screened this movie last night. I attended, as I’m trying to document some of the activities associated with this celebration. I was not prepared for the emotional experience this simple film, had in store for me.
The film directed by Tânia Cypriano, is the story of the director who came here in the early seventies from Brazil, to study English, she knew upon arrival at the San Francisco Airport, this was the place she could be free, could live any dream, she dared to dream. Accompanying her was her aunt, who held little interest in living here, long term. Her ideas changed when an unplanned pregnancy gave her a precious little reason to stay. For the sake of her soon to be born daughter, who would be an American citizen she decided to forfeit her own happiness and plant her feet firmly in a foreign land. It is a story about an average American girl who just happens to be of Brazilin decent.
Life in the U.S. is good, but it’s bad. Life in Brazil is bad, but it’s good. A quote from the movie sums up the general feeling of the film. We as Americans take many things for granted, we also claim many words as our own, thinking we invented them and it is somewhat true, we may not have invented them, we defined them and galvanized them in the eyes of the world. Freedom, liberty, justice and for the most part equality are truly American concepts. The American Dream is a statement used throughout the world and throughout our existence to describe a thing sought after by much of the world’s population. I have traveled this world and am not blind, I see the problems we face here, but know, that we are the light by which most of the world steers.
Soon after her cousin was born, the directors grandma arrived too help raise this new American. The first thing she did was buy a video camera to record her granddaughter’s life. This movie is a collage of twenty years of footage, shot buy a woman who came here at the age of seventy and had never touched a video camera in her life, a woman who never learned the English language, but who exemplifies all that is great about the American spirit. It chronicles the lives of three generations of Brazilian women and their family members who followed them. It tell the stories of their struggle to assimilate to American culture, to get their educations and to workto provide for their families.
Ultimately this is the story of living in one country with your heart residing in another, for just as surely as you breathe, you can never dislodge what you are born to be. “I am an American and I am a Brazilian,” Tânia Cypriano. The American Dream is beautiful like the rose, but like the rose it has barbs. Many immigrants and average Americans for that matter, will never be able to afford the American Dream, it’s a hard lesson to learn. A lesson that prevails throughout the movie, as the family continues to live a revolving life moving from one county to the other, always following their divided hearts.
I wept many times during this movie as I recognized people I know in the people on the screen. I gained a deeper understanding of my wife, a Peruvian, her mother, and her children. I gained a more complex respect for the untold numbers of people who are from South and Central America, but who are none the less Americans.
I felt the hopelessness of educated people who come here, only to have their education cheapened to the point of waiting tables seventy hours a week, simply to provide for their families. Doctors serving you pizza, being treated like farm workers by the masses. American dreamers, being vilified by our government, simply for having the audacity to live the dream that we as Americans fought to establish and promised the world, so long ago.
"Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" Emma Lazarus
I still believe these words; I fought for them, these American words with more meaning than any others.