Naming Names

When I was young, I bragged about being able to drive half way across the state without ever touching a paved road, those days are gone. Now, one can go to Atlanta, and once they get on Martin Luther King Boulevard, they can travel across several states without getting off of it. There are 777 streets and everything else you can imagine, named after him.
There are so many things named after American Presidents that the internet provides this disclaimer with any information supplied on the subject. Sorry this question cannot be answered effectively and is constantly being updated. If you have any information, please contribute. I did find out that more things are named for Woodrow Wilson than for any other president. Why?
Okay, I do understand these; I’m not quite as thick as a brick. But while researching this, I did come across a few I don’t understand. How about Bubba Gump, Lane, Walk This, Way, Not A, Street or The Long And Winding, Road? On that last one, the streets of the entire neighborhood are named after Beetles songs. There is an entire community in Spain where the streets are named for the characters from the Mario Brothers video game.
I hate to get on this one, but a dummy cannot write a story this dumb without mentioning it. There are 71 streets in Atlanta named Peachtree. All or none of them may or may not end up at the Atlanta Botanical Gardens after being lost for four hours. I learned this one the hard way, I eventually stupided myself to my destination, five minutes after it closed. Warning, do not put Peachtree into that little black box on your dash, smoke will come from it. Do not try to figure it out on an old fashioned, out of date map, smoke will come from that little black box between your ears. Do not ask the average person, on the sidewalk of Atlanta, for directions to Peachtree. I got, you’re on it, from at least a dozen and I don’t know, from fifty who were on various forms of it. If your destination is on Peachtree, you’re better off taking a right on 285 and just keep driving until you reach the end or run out of gas.
If you’re headed somewhere to have tests which will determine how long you have to live, it’s best to stop by the Varsity and have a few dogs instead. At least you’ll enjoy the last six months of your life instead of dying while lost on Peachtree. I’ve decided Atlanta designed Peachtree to keep the idiots from the rest of the state busy while in town. This keeps them from bothering state officials, who are too busy not making progress, to be bothered with us. Half the idiots in Georgia are constantly circling Atlanta on 285, those who escape it, end up circling inside Atlanta on Peachtree. If you doubt this, you’ve never driven on either.
How about these, Psycho, Path, Just A, Road, Nameless, Road, Chain Gang Creek, Road and Labor in Vain, Road, there are millions. Here, is a fascinating question for you. What is the most popular street name in America? Second Street, what is that about? Second Street is in first place, and First Street is in second place. I have given up on understanding what people are thinking. I understood all I needed to understand by the time I was in third grade. That’s when little boys notice that there is something different and intriguing about the little boy sitting next to them with the pig tails and pink dress. It’s pretty much all downhill from there. Of course, this is also when little girls notice there is something different, and revolting about the girl sitting next to them, with the cowlick and worn out jeans.
Most of us learn all we need to know by the third grade, future politicians go on to learn that the rest of us are dummies in the fourth grade and lobbyists go on to learn politicians are dummies in the fifth.
This story was inspired during a conversation with Mike and Judy Boyce at the Cobb County Library Foundations, Wild West Festival. Mike is attempting to become the Cobb County Chairman. I found his humor to be refreshing, and his determination to be inspiring. We joked about why the loop in Marietta is called the loop and not the snake and about why places and highways are named after people. Both of us fear our expansive notoriety may ensure that a public restroom is named for us in the future. Judy was delightful and displayed the consummate wit and charm one would expect from a true Southern Lady.
While Mike may go on to have many things named for him, I expect an old fallen down outhouse in Milledgeville might be as close as I come.

Dust Bunnies and the Elephant Upstairs

A Naval vessel is constantly cleaned. Most Sailors believe they are simply being kept busy, and to an extent, this is true. However, it serves another more vital purpose. When you are at battle stations and other states of readiness, you are confined to exceedingly small airtight spaces for many hours. When the guns fire on such a craft any dirt or dust, is shaken loose and spreads through the air. You must not only breathe it, but try to see through it as you perform your duties.

Surely you know what dust bunnies are. They are little gray clumps of undetermined materials that appear under your bed and defy all cleaning efforts. In the Navy, they are called ghost turds. No matter how much you clean and scrub, they will appear and dust will fill the air, every time a gun fires or the ship smacks into a wave with immense force. Back to this momentarily.

Why would a person live in an apartment without a gun being held to their head to make them? I’m living in one, and although Mary Carmen did not hold me at gun point, she may have held me at lip point. It’s astounding what a man will do for the lips he chooses to kiss, forever.

Apartments are not man’s natural habitat. Well, they are natural for the man who owns them and has a burgeoning bank account to prove it. They are sometimes akin to dog kennels and often look like them. You can not own a car without door dings, and you must attend all your neighbor’s parties as you try to sleep in your bed. The gate works at times, but most times the only people it keeps out are the actual residents of such places.

The pool and other facilities are usually so full with non residents that you can only stand at a distance and wonder what’s it’s like to have a pool. You must jump through hoops to prove you are suitable to be a resident, but then watch as the parking lot fills with derelict vehicles possibly belonging to those who are not. You get to stand around in parking lots and discuss the latest car break-ins with your neighbors as they walk their dogs, which are against the rules. If you own a grill, you may store it on your deck, but must never use it. It’s not like you don’t pay dearly each month for the right to char grill a steak.

You must be privy to your neighbor’s arguments and their choices of television shows. The apartment above us has had three sets of residents since we moved in. Once, as we sat outside on our deck enjoying a glass of wine, the neighbors upstairs broke into a fight. It spilled out onto the deck above our heads. Then is developed into a loud, amorous encounter which caused me to blush and it’s hard to make an old sailor blush. I was embarrassed the next time I ran into them in the breezeway. The next occupants had kids, but we never heard a peep or step they made.

Last weekend new residents moved in up there. Immediately their pet elephants started running through the apartment. They start long before dawn and thunder across the apartment until late in the night. The apartment shudders and shakes and any dust that has escaped Mary Carmen and trust me that’s a hard thing to do, falls and fills the air. I love to be reminded of my days in the Navy, but this is a memory best left unremembered. I was beginning to think they had installed a wrestling ring up there.

With great anticipation, I struggled to catch a glimpse of the four hundred pounds Samoans who had moved in upstairs. I kept watching the parking lot as I have never watched someone walk a pet Elephant. I was curious about how they would accomplish it or what the leash looked like. Okay I was more curious to see what the pooper scooper looked like.

I was beginning to believe they were wrestling Samoans, with pet elephants who used a transporter, they never came and went. I never saw them move in, and I’m here most of the time. I was wondering if they were a tribe of Swahili’s complete with drums. This does kind of sound like a Star Trek or Twilight Zone episode, hummmm maybe they’re blue.

Then yesterday I saw them for the first time. Two young girls who if balled up and thrown on a scale would scarcely weigh a hundred twenty pounds combined. This revelation created more questions than the answers I needed. I guess they could be practicing for the Olympics or preparing for their roles in an upcoming Kung Fu movie. Sadly I’ll never know, but knowing might confuse me more.

A Freddie in the Flowers

Once upon a time I owned a store. Anyone who has ever owned a store, knows, the store owned me. I planted a flower garden behind it which was my excuse to escape the store as often as possible.
Anyone who has ever owned such a thing will agree. As time passes you do everything imaginable in the store, seeing as you practically live in it. You will eat, sleep, drink, play games, build a carburetor and yes Virginia you might have sex in it too.
This particular day was hot, and I knew I needed to be careful, but better to fall out outside than go crazy inside. I was weeding and doing other mindless things, trying to relax. Suddenly I heard a young girl say “Hey Freddie.” Now I have many names, but Freddie ain’t one of them and it never has been.
It was broad daylight, and I hadn’t been out long enough to be loopy. That’s not to say that I’m not naturally loopy, but this seemed out of place, it sent chills down my back and ran the willies up my arms. I wanted to look around to see if there were someone standing behind me. It seemed too much like someone looking under a bed in a horror movie.
Slowly I scanned the yard and saw exactly what I expected, I was alone. A little rat scurried away on my left toward the store. I caught a glimpse, it was green. Standing, I moved toward the store peering into the wild flowers, it moved again, there was another flash of green. I scanned my surrounding to make sure no one else was witnessing my trip to the funny farm.
After everything quieted down I squatted and went back to work. I was pulling weeds and singing when a burst of curse words ripped the air. They were so strong they embarrassed me, and I can throw together colorful words with the best of them. Looking around the second time was akin to going into that basement, you know the one.
I don’t know about you, but I decided long ago. If I ever find myself in a horror movie with a bunch of teenagers, and freaky music starts playing. I’m not looking under beds, going into basements or attics, opening doors, and I’m not using the outhouse, if there is one. I’ll let the others run through the woods, get chased by the mad man and see all the horrible stuff that needs seeing before you die. I’m gonna sit in the living room, eat boiled peanuts and drink Budweiser and make the killer come to me. Maybe he’ll be worn out from chasing teen age girls with wet Tee Shirts on and won’t have the energy to kill me when he finds me. Maybe the horror movie will end with him and I sharing a beer.
Anyway the curse words were uttered with a course, crude voice, so I stood as I searched the yard for their source. I had no idea if I was going to fight or run, but I could do neither on my knees. Another scan verified I was alone. I decided it was time to go inside as the broad daylight was scaring the bajebies out of me.
Then the cursing started again, followed by the sweetest little girl voice saying, “Hey Freddie.” I saw it again, a green bird broke from the cover of the wildflowers and started toward the store, it was scurrying like a green streak through the underbrush. I started toward the store at breakneck speed trying to keep my eyes on it as it appeared now and again through the flowers. When I reached the store, which was made of brick, I was so focused on Freddie I didn’t see the store coming at me. I hit it head first at full speed.
Waking up in the hospital twelve hours later, I had a few stitches and a concussion. I found myself in a battle of wits with a Physiatrist. It took me another twelve hours to convince him that the cursing bird I had been ranting about while I was out, was caused by the heat and not an indication of my mental state. I played the game and made him believe that I didn’t believe, but I did.
As soon as I got home I headed to the garden to prove, if to no one but me, that I wasn’t crazy. It took an hour, but I eventually corralled Freddie in a corner and took him in the house. This proved my sanity to a worried wife. Freddie was a little green Parrot, with a broken wing, with the vocabulary of a drunken Sailor. He spent the next ten years in our house offending visitors and teaching another generation the intricacies of colorful language.

The Big Chicken

I was in Marietta, Georgia yesterday for a local writer’s expo. There ain’t much more disturbing a thing, than to be cooped up in a room with 24 other writers. You will hear more stories than you can rightfully digest in such a time. The invitation did not state that a shovel was a necessary piece of equipment, but I should have figured. At times, it got so deep, I was might near swimmin.
There were old writers, young writers and others who were doing a fair impression of being dead writers. Well, until someone spoke to em and then they would pipe up and sing their own praises until folks moved on or they run out of steam and passed out again. There were big writers, little writers, writers of children’s books and writers of conspiracy. There were mystery writers, history writers and folks just sellin thing, dressed as writers.
Then there was me. On some days, I’m called a writer, most days I’m called thing I can’t say. I’m pretty sure if you know my ex-wife she might give you a few names that’ll make your face red and your ears burn. Mary Carmen might give you a few you can’t understand. Others might give a few unsuitable for new brides, children and grandmothers, to hear. I had fun and met some cool people, but next time, I’m takin a shovel, a bottle of toilet water and a set of hip waders. Just cause you’re full of it, don’t mean you got to smell like it.
So afterward we were to meet my publisher at the Marietta Diner. Did I mention for a free dinner? If someone says free food, my ears are comin off and going with them, with or without me. They are probably takin my mouth too and seein as a writer can’t exist without a mouth, the rest of my body might as well go along. Come to think of it, if my ears had went off and left me yesterday, I’d have been better off.
I learned how to sell books, listen to books on Cd’s, cover books and Lord I learned how to talk about books. It seems I learned everything about books except how to write em and sell em. Maybe I should have dropped my ears and eyes at Kennesaw State; they got more girls than the Florida Gators have on their football team. Maybe I should have dropped my brain at brain daycare; I didn’t need it where I was.
Anyway I remember going to Marietta when I was younger. At that time when you asked for directions, they would give them to you based on the most prominent focal point in the small city at the time. That bein Elmo Tolson’s farm, which was the exact location of his moonshine still. So the directions might go like this.
“Well if in you go as far as you can see down that away, you’ll see some new fangled cows in a field to your right. Turn left thereabouts, then be lookin for Rutherford Cuth’s old dog, it’s been dead for three days. Don’t mistake the brown one you’ll come across first, it ain’t from around her, shot it myself yesterday. Anyhow after you pass Rutherfords dog you’ll come to Elmo Tolson’s place, turn right and Johnny Mae Wilkinson’s place is the third on the right. Look for all them big ole tractor tires painted white and full of flowers, you can miss it.”
Ah, the good old days. Anyway when I asked about the diner, I got the following directions.
“Just go to the big chicken and turn right.”
“Do what?”
“Lord son, ain’t you ever heard of the big chicken? It’s a Georgia icon, people come from all over the world to see it, it’s right near where Elmo Tolson’s farm used to be. You ain’t from around here, are you boy?”
I ain’t, but I hit myself in the head with a hammer, twice to appear like I was. Sure enough, after a mile or so there was this chicken the size of Ole Ted Turner’s head, just sittin there, pretty as you please. I got to tell you, eatin anything beside an egg that comes from, the southern end of a chicken is a little disturbing. What do I know? I tried, hard, to keep going, but had to stop and take a few pictures; maybe I am from around there after all. Paris has the Eiffel Tower, Pisa has the leaning tower of pizza, Rome has the Sistine Chapel and Marietta has the big chicken.
Alright get your panties out of a bunch; I’m just poking a little fun. I had a fabulous time and met some outstanding folks. And that free meal, the Marietta Diner has some of the best food in the south. Thanks to the Cobb County Library.

That Troublesome Constitution

It always does my heart good to find folks who, go out of their way to be helpful. How about you? I’m reminded of a friend I had in the Navy. The old boy was from Deer Park, Minnesota, and it was his twenty first birthday. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. In fact, I imagine he would never have made it to the box in the first place.

A group of us decided to take him out to indulge in a little legal drinking. After all, the better than thou’s, had already been helping him for three years, allowing him the possibility of dying for his country, but not allowing him to drink in it. See, people will be helpful at the cost of your freedom, as often as you allow them to. We spent the night exercising his newly acquired freedom in great depth. At some point, he stepped outside to get a little air.

While stumbling around outside, something across the road, caught his attention. He stepped from the curb, only the Old Milwaukee sharing his head, did not see the curb. I’ll admit it, the beer was no more helpful that the better than thou’s, had been. Stepping from a curb, while not difficult does require you be aware it’s there. His foot hit nothing. It took his mind and its half a case of buddies too long to register something was wrong.

At this point gravity became more helpful than it needed to be and he started for the street, leading with his face. Thanks gravity, why can’t you simply stick to making sure we don’t drift off of the planet? Why must you get involved in things that don’t concern you? See even gravity is pesky and will help you, to death.

This story should end here with a dead thud. But seeing as he was one of my friends, it doesn’t. This old boy wore tight jeans, and he wore jeans tighter than those worn by young girls in search of a husband. As gravity was busy making sure he did not drift off into space, he was twisting, jerking, wiggling and struggling to get his hands out of his tight pockets. Gravity won, and he crashed nose first into the streets with his hands still in his pockets. In fact, he was in the gutter squirming trying to free them, so he could get up.

His nose was broken, and he was covered in blood. Two passersby noticed him thrashing about and being helpful came to his aid. They grabbed him under his arms and helped him to his feet.

“Are you Okay?” The actual words were probably not that helpful.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

One of them punched him in his already broken nose as the other was helpful enough to dig his wallet from his tight back pocket. Again he found himself in the gutter. His pants continued to keep his hands warm, just being helpful. It was then that the police arrived. He had no ID or money, and the crooks had only been gone for moments. The police decided they would help him by giving him a warm place to sleep. He decided he needed to verbally thank them for all the help they were not giving.

They did not appreciate his thanks and cuffing him threw him in their back floorboard. They proceeded to drive around all night. Then they decided to be more helpful and not arrest him. They did, however, lock him up for two weeks, keeping no records of it. This made him AWOL which inspired Uncle Sam to be helpful and take away his rank and privileges. I’m telling you, being helpful is catchin.

So now let’s get to the moral of this story. We can barely survive today with all the help we get from our government. They tried to censor the internet recently, and the country screamed in protest. Censorship is simply the people who know everything, bending the rest of us to their will. People who know that whatever they do, is inherently right and what others do is inherently wrong. I’m glad that didn’t pass, considering so many wars have been fought, by us wrong people to protect the few right ones.

Remember we fought the British to protect freedom of speech and other things? Remember banned in Boston? Censorship is simply an attempt to help us understand that the Constitution is ill defined and apparently, wrong. Paypal has become the latest in a long line of companies and people, who know what we as Americans, should and should not read. They are forcing any company online, who sells books, to remove books they deem inappropriate, or they will no longer allow them to conduct business. We should thank them; with their being so helpful who needs that pesky constitution.

Deeper Levels of Fear

Once I was a young redneck. The biggest fear I held was someone pulling a gun on me. I came to understand the same gun in the hands of an idiot was more fearful.

Put the same gun in the hands of a woman and the fear deepens. As men have never figured out what a woman is thinking, one can never be sure what one might do with a loaded firearm. No offence intended, but just look at all the troubled one caused with an apple. The most dangerous situation involving a gun is if the person holding it is more scared than you are. Fear is a terrible thing in the hands of the untrained.

As I became a middle aged redneck, I found that a gun was not the worst thing you could encounter. I went to complain to a man about his son bullying mine. It turned out the father was the inspiration for his son’s behavior. When words won’t do, knuckles might, I cracking the father on the nose. He opened the door and sicked his pit bull on me. I’m not proud of it, but the poor dog who was merely a reflection of his idiot master and son, did not win.

As life has passed, I have seen many reports where idiots have sicked viscous animals on people. For things like complaining about the noise or smell of fifteen dogs in the apartment next door. Usually those with such animals are simply scared and use them similarly to a gun or knife. Many people die or are maimed because an idiot isn’t as smart as the gun or animal he owns.

Is it hard to handle when a dog escapes and kills your foo foo dog in your yard. The police arrive to inform you, they can do nothing as you have no proof. For some reason, witnesses hold no weight in such situations. This happened in a neighborhood I lived in many years ago. It had happened three times before, and the police had done nothing. Everyone in the neighborhood knew a child would eventually be mauled.

I came home one morning, having forgotten something, to see the dog in a friend’s fenced in yard, killing his dog. As soon as I drove in his direction, the dog headed home and jumped his fence. When its owner came home, it was his turn to figure out what happened to his dog, in its yard. Sorry, problem solved.

Then I watched a movie last week about exotic pets and my fears took on a whole new level of intensity. There are more large cats in captivity in Texas alone than in India where they belong. Why would you own something that sees the equivalent of steak when it looks at you?

The worst part of this is that many who own them are no more responsible that those who own mean dogs. Do you want a 500 pound Lion living next door with the idiot who loves there already? Too late they already do. They live next door in cages. Your safety and the safety of your children depends on the ingenuity of someone who repairs his car with duct tape and bailing wire.

Worse than that, it may be someone who doesn’t have the sense to own a gun or knife much less a mean dog or large cat. People wonder why the government wants gun control. I don’t believe in it. Still, I must wonder about those who are scary without one, owning one. I might dodge a bullet and believe I have a chance against a gun. I have proved I am smarter than a dog on several occasions, but must not kid myself and believe I can fight something which thinks I’m a Jimmy dean sausage and weighs over 500 pounds. Just what I want, is a dumb neighbor to turn his Panther lose on me. Simply because I insulted his wife by being polite to her at the mailbox.

After all, it’s cheaper to turn a dog or cat loose on someone, than to use a shotgun shell you may need to kill a deer. Imagine showing up at the dentist and not having a shell to kill him with if he causes you pain, while pulling one of your three teeth.

As this is written, the entire population of small animals, in the Everglades has been wiped from the earth by pet Burmese Pythons that have been released. They estimate there are over 300,000 already living there. They are already attacking and killing humans to include children and once all food is gone it will get worse. The Alligators don’t have a chance.

You can outsmart the smart, but the ignorant will defeat you. Those who advocate owning such animals say fear is the only reason people want them banned. Duh, naw, you think?

Valentine's Embarrassment

Once I thought I understood embarrassment. I thought it started as it always does, with the phrase, Hey Ya’ll Watch This. The other place you might find yourself in a potentially embarrassing situation is at mediocre restaurants. I’ve never had anyone sing happy birthday to me in an expensive one. At the cheaper ones they hardly notice you’re there in the first place and certainly ain’t about to care if it’s your birthday. But the ones that are just affordable enough to be special will get you every time.
You know the ones I’m talking about, they have yummy food, which doesn’t require a payment plan to afford. They all have those baby back ribs with sauces with names like, sweet, sassy and sassafrasy ribs. Been down to the creek, killed me a hog and slathered him in sugar water ribs and artery hardening, mouth smackin ribs. You get the idea. I don’t go to these places often I’m a broke writer and let’s face it, I’m more likely to be eatin soda crackers with ketchup on em. So when I go there, the last thing I want. Is for a bunch of young people who have no clue who I am and whom are being paid to act like they care, singing happy birthday to me as I eat.
I once thought I might die from such a thing, until yesterday. Wives mean well, but they sneak up on you sometimes. They are pretty skilled at it too. We left the house my wife’s behavior indicated I was being sneaked up on. I imagined ribs or a Chinese buffet at the worst. I was still unaware as we parked; no, scratch that, as I parked. A respectable woman and Mary Carmen is a respectable woman, can arrange things in a way which allows you lead yourself to slaughter.
We got out and headed toward several of our favorite restaurants in a strip mall near the house. Suddenly she tugged me to a stop. We were standing in front of one of those nail salons. I always wondered how someone cold stay in business by doing nothing but nails. However, I never intended to find out. She had skillfully delivered me right to the door of one; I was skillfully trying to avoid going any further. I have lived fifty-one years without a pedicure and was not figuring on breaking a perfect record.
She spoke sweetly and coaxed me with soft, comforting words. A gaggle of pretty Vietnamese women stood inside, possibly placing bets on the outcome of our exchange. She explained that this was my Valentine's present which made escaping impossible. After only a few minutes, she realized sweet wasn’t working and started to toughen up a bit. I had already lost but was unaware of it.
Giving up, I entered and began an hour long blush more suitable for a bride from before the turn of the century. I was lucky I had just taken a shower and put on clean socks, half the time I don’t even wear socks. I sat down, and my chair started to vibrate. I was trying to relax. A sweet young girl sat down and started on my feet. I could see the look of concern on her face. After all, they closed in less than four hours and Valentines was less than a week away. She spoke to the other women in alarming tones, but when she addressed me in English she was sweet and cordial.
She dug, and she burned, then burned and dug. She wore out a pair of sturdy wire cutters, broke three hack saw blades and dulled three scalpels. She was sweating like she was diggin up taters. Eventually an older woman, more experienced no doubt, came from the back room with a gas powered set of toe nail clippers. They were old, rusty and smelled of two cycle oil. Other customers came and went as the girl worked trying to trim nails and the pads on my feet. I was glad we weren’t payin her by the pound.
Eventually she collapsed and was relieved by another woman with more stamina. She mumbled incoherently as the replacement placed her out of the way, before beginning. Poor girl may have nightmares for years.
By the time, it was done they had applied acid, paint striper, marine jelly and more creams and ointments than you can buy at wall-Mart. But I had to admit my feet felt amazing. They feel fabulous today, but today I am a smarter man. The next time my wife lets me drive and doesn’t tell me exactly where we’re going, I’m staying at home and having those crackers and ketchup. So men let me warn you. If your wife is ambiguous on Valentines, you are probably not about to get, Fat Macks, slap yo mama in the mouth ribs. Run and or hide.