"Professional cynic - but my heart's not in it."
After feeding the koi at the Botanic Gardens and an early dinner at Huey's, John and I went to Home Depot.
Walking into the store in front of us was a pretty woman: long hair, little sundress, big boobs, long legs, high heels.
"Oh, daddy," John said wistfully.
"Yeah, son?"
"I like her."
"I like her too, son. She seems nice."
My grandmother is in a nursing home, and I think everyone who works there is impressed with the amount of visitors she has. My mom is there every day, and one of my sisters is there almost every day. The rest of us are there every other day or so, so on any given day my grandmother usually has three or four people in to see her.
Her roommate, Ms. Mearl (totally not her real name), is apparently unimpressed with all this. Ms. Mearl is a nice lady, but she can't see very well and she's a little (and by "little" I mean "a lot") out of it some of the time.
So yesterday I was there, and John was with me, and my brother and sister were there, and my neice came in with her little girl. So we're talking and kids are doing the kid thing and my brother is in and out going to smoke. Eventually, John and I got ready to leave. We'd said our goodbyes to the family already.
"Bye, Ms. Mearl," I said.
She shook her head. "It's like a zoo in here," she said, "just like a zoo."
Big day yesterday. Christie was going to med school when Sonya worked at LSU, and she's been threatening to come see us ever since we moved back to Memphis. This weekend, she did!
And she rode the train, too. She gets bonus points for that. Anyway, yesterday we:
The Warhol exhibit was on the schedule this morning, and the girl's went, but I went to pick up John at my sister's house. And now I'm cooking a big Sunday chicken dinner, 'cause in many ways I'm a perfect '50s housewife. It's hell to cook in those heels, but you gotta have standards.
A thought on the Viagra commercial set in a Nashville music studio (click the Nashville link to view):
This is a pill that helps men to get erections, right? My question: do the good people who make Viagra really want their drug associated with a bunch of guys who get in a circle, whip out their instruments and start to play with them?
Sonya and I at Laurie and Brendan's wedding. The Nineteenth Century Club, Memphis, Tennessee, June 14, 2008.
"I pity the poor bastards who have to watch them. They are utterly humourless. I met them a few years ago, said hello and realised they were just men in anoraks. They looked like a gang of little poncey masturbators. There is no fun, they don't offer joy. Their music has a couple of quite nice tones here and there but it's a box of tosh sold to slightly inadequate, half-baked people."
For a self-described boat bum who spends a good chunk of time tussling with bad guys on the fringes of society, Travis McGee has a surprisingly well thought-out view of life:
"I know just enough about myself to know I cannot settle for one of those simplifications which indignant people seize upon to make understandable a world too complex for their comprehension. Astrology, health food, flag waving, bible thumping, Zen, nudism, nihilism -- all of these are grotesque simplifications which small dreary people adopt in the hope of thereby finding The Answer, because the very concept that maybe there is no answer, never has been, never will be, terrifies them."
Xeney.com has a link! To me!
I've always liked Beth's work. She is a pillar of the blogging community. And she has excellent taste, obviously.
In case you're shopping, this is what I want for the birthday:
Go! Shop!
Bedtime tonight, and I'm reading John a Curious George book about a trip to the big city. Somehow, George ended up in the Guggenheim.
"What are those?" John asked, pointing to the sloping, spiraling walkways.
"That's where you walk up and down and see all the art - it's a really cool place."
"Can I go there?"
"Yes. Yes you can."
"...a familiar face was working the quiet and elegant bar, and he remembered The Drink, and seemed so pleased with himself in remembering, that we each had one, sitting and watching the deftness with silent and respectful attention. Two ample old-fashioned glasses, side by side, filled to the two thirds line with cracked ice. A big, unmeasured slosh of dry sherry into each glass. Then swiftly, the strainer placed across the top of one and then the other, as with a delicate snap of the wrist he dumped the sherry down the drain. Then fill to the ice level with Plymouth gin, rub the lemon peel around the inside of the rim, pinch some little floating beads of citrus oil on the surface of the drink, throw away the peel, present with small tidy bow and flourish to the folk."
I need Plymouth gin, people. This is a drink I need.
You want to know what's refreshing?
Topo Chico mineral water, that's what's refreshing.
I was outside making a fire to cook some ribs for a thing at Sonya's work and that was some hot, sweaty work, I tell you what. Fortunately, I had picked up a bottle of Topo Chico at Wal Mart last night. It even comes in a tall glass bottle that sweats in a satisfying way when you drink it outside on a hot night.
Shit is good, y'all. I want a case of it!
...to screen your brother's calls? And by "screen" I mean "not fucking answer."
I love my brother, I do. Wouldn't trade him for anything. But jeeze. Everytime he calls - or anytime I see him - he needs something. A ride somewhere. Help with my mom's yard. Twenty bucks. No time is too inopportune for him to make a request, apparently.
If you've met my brother, you know how he is. He's a swaggering hunk of old-school macho, all mustache and long hair and muscles from the incredibly dangerous manual labor he does. However, he also hates - hates! - to be alone. Even just watching TV, he wants someone else to keep him company.
And now he's calling me from my mom's phone. Such sly trickery!
Dozens of water guns that Jen brought over for Memorial Day. John has one big air-powered supersoaker that I held onto.
"James and I are sitting on the porch, drinking our beers," I explained to the boys, "if you spray either one of us with your little guns, I will soak you with this big gun."
Also, the porch was a place where the boys couldn't shoot each other. However, this was a hard rule for them to follow. Therefore, I initiated the Countdown.
"Ten, nine, eight..." I'd intone, all the while pointing the supersoaker point blank at the kid on the porch. This was a strong motivator for them to go play elsewhere.
John is four, so his play is a little tentative. And he's easily distracted. But he's got potential! Through the course of ten games he scored one goal, but he contributed many, many times.
I liked being coach! And at this age group (4-6) they let the coach run around on the field and tell the kids what to do. That is a lot of fun.
And today was the end-of-season coaches game. I scored the opening goal, and I think my team won. I'm looking forward to the fall!
Born July 28, 1972. Graduated high school May 1990. Married February 16, 1991. Graduated college May 1994. Currently living near Memphis, Tennessee. First child born November 10, 2003.
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