Is That All You Got?!?*

When I was in the 6th grade, I got a bicycle for Christmas...a ten speed bicycle. Yeah that turned out to be a disaster.

It's not because I was uncoordinated. Please. I played golf...played football, arm-wrastled grown men and entered my self into dog fights. I wore a cobra snake for a neck tie...My parents used me for alligator bait and I washed my face in a frying pan...OK?

Let's face it, I was a bad a**! Still am. Deal with it Haters!

But...but, as those of you who know me personally can attest, I was, and have always been, wholly unequipped to deal with any kind of machine or gadget. In this case, a gear box for a ten speed bike.

After a couple of passes through the neighborhood, I figured out that high gears were good for going up hill..it was easier to pedal. Then I discovered that the low gears could be used to gain traction going down hill...meaning I could go faster than gravity.

Can y'all see where I'm going with this?

I came up with a plan to break the Truck Route up-hill land speed record. I'd start on the top of one hill using the low gears to pick up maximum down hill speed. Once I reached the bottom of the bowl I'd shift into high gear and pick up a blinding rpm for the up turn. All very logical...how could it fail?

It failed at about 55 miles an hour, as I flipped the gear switch to first. The failure was almost immediate and it was complete. The pedals, now spinning without resistance, picked up enough speed to bust an atom. My feet were flung off the bike and for a second it vibrated but continued to pick up speed...then there was a wobble and a flash and piercing, head caving, pain.

I don't remember anything between that moment and opening my eyes onto the ceiling of our back deck. I'd been moved there by my mother and the Sister...who was about five at the time. Santy Clause had brought her a plastic doctor's kit for Christmas. Thankfully she was able to fit me into her schedule.




She wasn't nearly as busy back then.

I had ripped the skin on my right knee down to the cap, left a hunk of my shoulder on the asphalt and knocked halfa front tooth out. I still have big nasty scars on my knee and shoulder. For thirty years, up until last week, my broken tooth had been capped. That was before I had the temerity to bite into a soggy spring roll last Wednesday night.

Sexy? Like a mole on a super model maybe?

 So, it's off to the dentist for me where I will get high as Cooter Brown on gas and listen to Roxy Music. They'll give me some hillbilly heroin on the way out the door.

Unless y'all think I should leave it.

Up Next...The Special Needs Relationship: Part Two, Can't Get Back There From Here

*The title actually has nothing to do with this post...it was intended for another. Sue me.

Somebody's Desperate for Attention

Last week saw the return of Allan. We know he's only using us as an outlet to express his frustrations on Saturdays...but, we'll take what we can get.

In similar a turn of events....The Sister (aka Anonymous), has recently shown a renewed interest in Flimsy Cups. She's sent me a string of texts explaining that a) the blog is not nearly as funny as Suri's Burn Book and b) it's been especially boring since she stopped being a regular feature on these pages.

Those of you who have been around for a while know, because I have told you numerous times, that I am nothing but a loving and supportive brother to my little sister. You will also know that she normally responds to my concern and affection with derision and insults.

The latest...

"You don't add up..."

"Dufus"

"Eat it!"

"Oh good grief."

Maybe it's because her youngins are back in school...maybe football's cutting in to the Supper Club schedule? It's too early for Mistletoe meetings at the Junior League? I don't know but, she's obviously desperate for attention. To show that I harbour no ill will towards her, even after years of harassment and abuse...that I, selflessly, only have her best interests and well being at heart...I will oblige her egomaniacal needs.

Holiday Potpourri...starring The Sister.

What is Holiday Potpourri you ask?

"It's only the premier event for Jackson in the Fall. Where have you been?"

Still don't know?

"A Jackson tradition for the last 26 years. We raise money [for school] so we don't have to nickle and dime our parents everyday like some schools..."*

They don't put just anybody in charge of the cash box at the ticket table.  Wonder why she wasn't asked to compose the prayer? Maybe because she told everybody her brother was a "demon."

Despite it all, we want you to know, dear Sister, that Flimsy Cups understands your need for attention and fully  suports the efforts of you and the other mothers to raise enough money to buy the students some toilet paper.

You're welcome.







During the writing of this post, while assuring her that she was going to featured in an upcoming post...I recived the following text....

"You're an ASS." Ass being used here, as in the Bible of course, to mean that I am a donkey and not as a swear word referencing the human buttocks.

*That is a shot at The Boy's school where each child has his own ipod touch and the football field has a Jumbotron...and despite the outrageous touition...we are harassed on a regular basis to buy $100 t-shirts and the Boy has to bring his own bandaides. It beats begging the public at large...might as well be a public school if you're gonna do that.

The Return of Allan.

That title's been sitting in my draft box since last week. He made me a prophet earlier this week by logging on to complain that, seven days into the season, there had been no talk of SEC football on the blog.

In response, my complaint is that there has been no Allan on the blog since January...hardly. Even as The South, which we, both proud sons of the Confederacy, cherish with equal fervor, has taken up so much space here. We've talked of beauty...a philosophical issue that can't help but butt up against perfection, an area in which he has earned the right to be called Doctor...silence. We recounted, with horror, an episode that nearly saw me killed by an exploding Cokecola bottle...no concern.

To think....he used to care.




So, if we want Allan around....and surely we do...I reckon we better talk about some football.

Tomorrow, the Florida Gators have the pleasure, the honour, of welcoming one of the two new members into the SEC.



Unlike JenniferQ...whose idea of a proper welcome is for the Aggies to be brutalized by every team in The Conference...I wish the Aggies well, after tomorrow.

We'll follow all the action right here.

Change of plans...thanks to the Sister, me and the Big Man have tickets to the Ole Miss - Texas El Paso game tonight. We will be on our way to Oxford while the Gators are pounding Texas A&m.

We could ask Allan to provide play by play but, we tried that in the past and all we got out of that was an irresitable target for Russian bots. I have know idea why but that thing gets about 100 hits a month from Russia and the Ukraine.



















For those of you who don't care about SEC football...they'll be flinging telephone poles and tying knots down at the Ag Museum all weekend...Mississippi Celtic Fest.

Arab Strap - The [Last] Big Weekend.



An old favorite..."I thought she had been quite pretty until Matthew informed me she had in fact been a peyg." Hahahahahah

Treading Water

Yo Le Tango - Treading Water.


We are waiting...waiting for Isaac to turn hurricane. Waiting to see where it'll land. Waiting for Wednesday to see what, if anything, we're dealing with. Above all, waiting to make sure the **** cable's on Thursday night for South Carolina at Vanderbilt.

I was supossed to be on my way to Natchez this morning...then onto the Louisiana State Penitentiary...



Angola...red hats, Leadbelly, the Rodeo.

That trip's been cancelled. Not only are prisoners being transferred there from the Coast...people from south Louisiana have booked every hotel room from here to Dallas.

Folks are jumpy. If you live around here, especially south of here, hurricanes are just part of the territory. They don't come every year but they will come. Some are worse than others.

Kate was the worst one I sat through as a kid. Me and the Sister spent that night in the hallway just like them kids in the picture. Even in there we could hear the wind pushing against the house and pine cones pelted the roof at a rattling pace.

Of course, my parents, in true Cracker fashion, stood on the front porch gawking.

"Look a'dat."

"D'you see that?"

Turns out what they were watching was the glow of tornadoes that were bouncing dangerously around the house. Just as the storm started to show the first signs of slowing, my brother pulled into the drive way. He had spent the worst of it trying to find a place to buy cigarettes. HA!

The real disaster became clear the next morning when we realized that, instead of being cut loose for a week while the school was shutdown, we'd be spending every hour of daylight picking up limbs and raking.

Some are worse than others...then there's Katrina. Seven years ago today, on a creepily similar path to Isaac, she reached her most vicious strength. Next day she came ashore on the western edge of the Mississippi Gulf Coast and erased it. The counter clockwise sweep of the storm took care of the rest...a 30ft wall of water mauled everything in it's path. Houses were blown to atoms, floating casinos were picked up and moved half a mile inland. More than 200 Mississippians lost their lives. Jackson is 160 miles from the coast. Katrina hit it us as a Category 2 storm.

For a minute that was the story. Then the levees gave way in New Orleans. Even though Mississippi had taken Katrina in the teeth, the Gulf Coast was almost forgotten. I read a story in the Guardian a couple of years ago on the anniversary of the storm. It claimed that New Orleans had been hit by a 30ft storm surge.

It conjured up images of the Quarter being crushed by giant waves...of Andrew Jackson being toppled in his square and, most horrifying of all, Crescent City Books being turned to pulp. Not exactly...that's what happened to Mississippi...the extreme northeastern edge of New Orleans sticks out between Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Borgne.* Except over land, there isn't really a clear path from the Gulf to New Orleans. To be sure, the water came and it was a disaster but it was not an obliteration event like the Coast had suffered.

Of course, one reason Mississippi didn't make as many headlines was because our governor, Hailey Barbour, came out the next day and declared that looters would be shot...and everybody knew he meant it.

Anyway, Isaac is not Katrina...and maybe once it passes maybe people can get back taking these things in stride and I won't have to cancel my &*&^ plans and spend the entire week in the office.



A Katrina stump...trees killed by the storm have been carved into fish, dolphins and birds from Gulf Port to Waveland. Reminders but pleasant.

*The French Quarter in New Orleans sits against the Mississippi River and being on that side it avoided most of the damage.

Merry Christmas...Cops and Doctors

More idiocy from me with the blogger. I just started writting when somehow I clicked the publish tab.

I'm just gonna write it out in the open...editing and all...piece by piece. You'll have to stay tuned.

I woke up this morning around 4am to giggling..almost belly laughs. I knew it wasn't Martha. She makes a different noise when she's sleeping. It had to be the big man.

"Boy what are you laughin' at?"

Silence.

"Hey man."

Nothing. He was asleep...joker was laughin' in his sleep.

Just I was falling back out when he starts moanin.

"Daddy...my ear hurts get a qtip Daddy."

It seemed like a better idea than wakin his Momma up so, I got some qtips and gently poked around his ear.

"It's not workin Daddy." How could waving a qtip and muttering over an infection not have worked to kill it.

"Imma go to the doctor. Imma tell Dr. Storey."

"You'll get your chance son but, right now the best thing you can do is go back to sleep."

So I laid with him til he got comfortable enough to fall out...and then got up to make some coffee. His Momma was already in the kitchen. I don't know what time it was...dark. Every since the Boy came along our day begins and ends two or three hours earlier than it used to. It's been three years and the fog still hasn't lifted. It's a struggle to get going in the morning and a struggle to stay awake at night.

"The Boy's got an ear ache."

"I heard...I'll call the doctor's office when he gets up."

Having done my part. It was Christmas Eve and time for me to start thinking about Christmas shopping.

I'm strugglin' y'all. I've practically had the office to myself all day and nothin' to do but, I can't get it together. After spending the last three days mocking and laughing at all the sick people in my house...seems it's my turn.

I feel like I have a pine cone wedged under my left eye and against the bridge of my nose...I think I've gone deaf in my left ear. My mouth and throat feel like I've been sucking on a sandpaper lozenge.

Feel sorry for me y'all.

I think I'm just sick of looking at this thing...here's the abbreviated version.

The Boy woke up...Martha called the Dr.

"Come on in."

The Boy was disappointed that Dr. Storey wouldn't be there...maybe he wanted to ask her why he toots so much again.

"She's with her family...it's Christmas Eve. Dr. McSomething will do a good job."

The Sister comes to pick up my Daddy to take him Christmas shopping.

Martha and the Boy leave.

I take a shower and leave. I've barely gotten out of the drive when I get a text from Martha...

"Just an ear infection."

That was good news. Even though he seemed fine there's always a part of me that worries when he goes to the Doctor. I'm the one that was with him when he was running laps in halls and sweet talking nurses for suckers...just before the Dr. diagnosed him with the pneumonia.

Anyway...so that was off my mind. Just as I get the car parked in front of my first stop...the phone rings. It was the security company...

"We have a signal coming from your front door. Do you want us to send the police?"

CRAAAAAAAAAp!

My Daddy had set off the alarm...it gave the warning when he came in but, he can't hear nothing higher pitched than an 808 kick drum.

It was all very funny and involved a lot of back and forth between me and Martha, me and the security company, cops that took so long to show up we were able to cancel the call (we just pay for the services where we live...we don't receive them).

The highlight of that day's shopping was a text from the Sister...

"Medium to Large...she's STACKED!"

Martha and the Boy were too sick for church...so, we rode around looking at Christmas lights.



the end

Call Me Rufus.

The Sister got an I-Phone this weekend.

Evidently this thing comes with a lady-in-waiting. For no other reason than that the option is offered...She gave her's an Australian accent.

Having decided on an Australian servant, the obvious next step was to ask it...

"Where can I find a shrimp on the barbie?"

The lady tells her to call Erik...me.

So, of course, she texts me to call her...several times as she got acquainted with Mac's Fascist spell check.

"Hey Rufus...call me."

"call me Dufuss...not Rufus. Call me Dufuss."

Hey Dufuss, why don't you ask Sheila where you can find Flimsy Cups.




The last great Pavement song.

Lest we forget...



Only this morning she has called me "Obnoxious" and uninvited me from Thanksgiving. All I've ever been guilty of is being a loving brother.

War Gator!

For the first time in ten years me and Daddy won't be in the stands at Auburn for the Florida / Auburn game...

"Yeah," says Martha, "maybe they'll win this time."

That's cold.

As hilarious as that was it wasn't the funniest thing that was said this afternoon.

"Alabama fans," according The Sister, a Mississippi State alum, "are horrid trailer trash" was the real funny.

Anyway...6:39 to go in the 1st quarter...0-0.

What a bunch of crap...typical crap at Auburn.

0-7 Auburn and the Referees.

3-7 auburn's still winnin the football game but losing the wrastlin match.

No GOOD Clowns.

6-7

Halftime.

Wide Left...losers.

:bangsheadagainstwall:

6-14 Cow College

Typical.

6-17 Auburn.

Next up a bye week....maybe they can win that.

__________________________________________________

As referenced in the comments...listen close you can hear Gloson's ankles snapping.

End of Days?

I don't want to alarm y'all but something strange has happened to the sky. It's gone a soft grey color.

I don't remember ever seeing anything like it and I'm not sure what it could mean...looks ominous.

I can't see the sun. There are patches here and there of illuminous white but no sun.

This is creepy.
________________________________________

I hate to do this but I'm afraid it's necessary. After talking with one our regular readers this weekend :coughthesistercough: I'm worried that my posts are sometimes confusing.

There isn't actually anything wrong with the sky...it's just clouds. The above is just a little joke about how we've had the same bright day for months now...do not panic.

Hopefully, the post hasn't been deemed too wordy...and the reader :coughsistercough: was able to make it to the explanation...and isn't hiding under the dining room table.

P.S. Nat...don't you dare say a word about Breaking Bad. We haven't seen it yet.

Do Not Feed the Alligators.

A little late for that. This joker sees a person he hears a dinner bell and makes a bee line. That's the problem with feedin' 'em.

When I was a kid we spent a lot of weekends at St. Marks Wildlife Refuge in Florida.



We would use these tiny little brine shrimp as bait for fishing. Scoop 'em up with hand nets from the pool where that picture was taken. It didn't take long for the gators to appear. You'd dip your net in the water and a head would pop up as you pulled it out...Some bigger and more disturbing than others.

I wonder how much of this The Sister remembers. I know she remembers the time that a bull gator growled at us. I bet she remembers me riding all the way back to Tallahassee with a three inch splinter in my big toe picked up during our frantic run across a wooden bridge to get as far away from that sound as possible.

What? Yeah. We were barefoot...of course we were.

Anyway, like I said I never could catch any fish at that place...so, I crabbed. Tie a chicken neck to the end of a string, throw in the water, give it a minute, pull it out...crabs. The problem is gators like chicken necks too. It doesn't take 'em long to associate people with food...humans cause hunger pangs. That's when an otherwise disinterested creature becomes an eater of dogs and small children...so don't feed the gators! Last time we were there, crabbing had been banned.

Don't worry about feeding the snakes...



They seem to be managing.

Satan's hand-puppet there is no bigger round than your index finger. He's devouring a frog...at an excruciating pace. The frog was starting to balloon. We looked for something long enough to catch and fling the snake over to the gator...to snuff out that little devil and put the poor frog out of his misery but we couldn't. Beastly.

Nature's a &*^&^%%%(**&^^! You won't find any more passionate conservationists than you will in The South...hunting and fishing are so deeply engrained in the culture...but, you won't find a lot of support for abstract, misty eyed concerns about the "environment."

When your towns aren't being erased by hurricanes...you're dodging tornadoes, gators, and snakes. The Sister knows two little boys that have been bitten by Cotton Mouths, one in the backyard, the other in his own garage, this year...terrible. Sometimes around here it seems like a fight...and not a fair one (ask the folks in Tuscaloosa).

Don't wanna be overly dramatic about it...we aren't struggling to survive...at least not most of the time :).



Most of the time it's just a beautiful place.

Patriotism and Golf

I'm busy today at work...watching a live stream of the U.S. Open.

In the spirit of our bantering Fridays, I just hollered across the hall to ask my co-worker who was gonna win...

"Hopefully an American."

Sigh..."Yeah it's not lookin' too good for that right now."

"I know..Europeans are kickin' our butts."

Whoa...wait a minute now..."OUR" butts?

First of all, though I genuinely like my co-worker...he's a good fella...he and me are not a we. He's got family down here, been here for a while but unlike some who come down here to live, leaving behind their bad habits*, he's still got some that are decidedly northernish (and some that are just bizarre and hilarious).

Don't get me wrong. He's a buddy of mine but, I had good friends in Germany. Don't make me German. Flimsy Cups has more British readers than North Americans...don't make us British. When I finally get that lime-green with orange racing stripe, hard top MGB GT from my old neighbor...I won't be English. I will, thank God, still be the same Cracker I've always been.

Affinity does not equate to oneness.

UPDATE: He's now watching it too...and doing a mocking English accent whenever a non-American comes up on the screen...Lord have mercy. Is it dinner yet?

Secondly, is there really a place for patriotism in golf? I have no emotional or intellectual problem with patriotism...the gaudier the better. I just don't really feel it for the U.S. Should Dixie ever regain it's independence...I'll make you cross-eyed with Battle Flags around here. And if a Good'un like Bubba Watson get's close on Sunday I'll be all over it. Still, it's golf. It's the Form of individuality disguised as a sport. Aside from Bubba and Boo, I'm rootin' for Phil...and he's from California. I'd love for Rory to get the taste of Augusta out of his mouth or, for Luke Donald to live up to his ranking.

If Mazes ever finally qualifies...I'll be his biggest fan. Begging to be on the bag...and we all know where he's from. :)

That's why I can't stand the Davis Cup (should be Ryder Cup...that's how much I care) thing that's played between Europe and the US every year. There's just something smelly (almost reddish) about turning golf into a team sport. I'm supposed to root against one of my favorite golfers of all time like Nick Faldo just because he's playing against some fella from New Jersey? Kiss my grits!

Team sports are different...team sports and patriotism go hand and hand. A lot of our friends in "the rest of the country" are irritated and confused by, generally speaking,** our fanaticism for the SEC as a whole...not just our own teams. The SEC is a Southern Institution and it's one of the few outlets for Southern Patriotism.

If you want to USA USA during an international basketball tournament...I get that but, please leave it out of my Golf.


*Somewhat ironically...they are usually referred to as Damn Yankees. Yankees that come down and never go back...ironic because these are usually the ones that make themselves at home and blend right in.

**The Sister actually rooted for michigan state against Alabama this year...her hatred of the Crimson Tide has obviously caused some mental damage.

The Greatest

Last night The Sister had her little Supper Party...which means I spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning with this....



I was tasked with, ripping cds, finding and arranging songs, burning discs and creating an 80's themed cover for the compilation that we discussed a few weeks back.

Finding the songs was a challenge...these compilations are all the same except for one or two tracks (it's great for the artists...if you want Jukebox (Don't Put Another Dime In The) you're gonna have to buy 867-5309 for the fifth time). Rippin the dodgy discs, which hadn't seen the inside of a jewel case since CD's were packaged in long boxes, wasn't as easy as it should have been. The cover was no problem for a high-stepper...but, listening to The Sister try and decipher the legal consequences of signing up for a free trial on Rhapsody was tedious (as was having to explain to her that stealing, even anonymously in the privacy of your own home, is still stealing). D*&^$# if the song she was trying to track down (Hold Me Now - Thompson Twins) didn't turn out to be on one the discs...those comps are impossible to tell apart.

All that was a chore, but the biggest pain in the butt of all...was finding a place in the sequence for Heat of the Moment by Asia...Seriously? Not only is it a dreadful piece of super-rock trash ...there's just no comfortable place for it between Der Kommisar and Shake it Up. In a move of quiet retaliation, I stuck the German version of 99 Red Balloons on the disc.

Yet despite it all...I managed.

So now you are presented with the sound of woman...who has called me an idiot and a demon, called me a moron in icing, who has told me to kiss her grits and threatened my life all on these very pages...eating crow.



Winning!

Colonizing Egypt in Hattiesburg Mississippi

Dry Ice, Road Rage, Forms, and Post Colonialism...squares and coffee.

Squat

The Sister says she's done checking my blog because she's been checking it all week and I haven't "done squat."

Excuuuse me. It's been a busy week. Those happen when you have an actual job.

It got started early too. Sunday night I had to deal with this...



Then I spent most of the week in glamorous southeast Mississippi. That's right Bassfield, Columbia, McComb, and Picayune...where I bought a King Cake from Paul's Pastry to share with The Sister and her's on Thursday night. She couldn't be bothered though...canceled on us.

And one of y'all should probably keep the ASPCA and Child Protective Services on speed dial.

First of all...Mary-Cathcart. This cat thinks it's the funniest thing ever in the history of animal domestication to get up on the counter. It's like a game to her. She leaps up and scrambles behind the coffee pot or the blender...juts her head out, gives it a few jerky bobs...like a snake lookin' to strike. We holler at her, she scrambles to hide, we drag her out, toss her on the floor. She runs around the kitchen island and jumps on the other counter.

Sunday night me and Allan caught her loungin' on a kitchen towel where the boys sippy cups and plates had been stacked to dry...had been. She just looked at us like..."what...WHAT?". I love that cat...she's my cat but, I'mma kill her if she don't learn some manners.

Then there's The Boy. A couple of weeks ago he got the pneumonia. When I took him to the doctor he was fine except for the 103 temp. Then they gave him the steriods. It was like living with a midget wrestler for a week...a villainous one.

Roid Rage!

That passed but in the short amount of time that he was sick and we were a little more lenient...he picked up some habits. Like throwing at the first sign he's not getting his way.

Yesterday evening we had a great time..we went to Lemuria, we walked around Mirror Lake and saw the baby ducks...all very pleasant. Then we went to a store that had toys, Thomas Trains, and a big plastic riding tractor.

I guess he thought we were dropping him off to live there because when it was time to go he screamed Nooooo and ran. He was one of those children last night...I dragged his screamin' behind out of there and when we got to the car it was on. I spanked his butt (settle down...I didn't beat him...but I could have :) I didn't even hit his bare legs ), put him in his car seat and then we (meaning I talked he listened) had a discussion about his behavior lately (again...no screaming or cursing...just no nonsense.."we're done playing these games).

It was the first time I was genuinely aggravated with him*...he's too aware and smart not to know what he's doing. First time I really had to act like a Daddy...remind him that I wasn't just one of his buddies. I was doin' pretty good too 'til I asked him how he thought he could be in charge "when he couldn't even reach the sink?" I was thinkin' about how he couldn't even wash his own hands...you know.

That was a fail...Martha immediately covered her mouth and began to vibrate in her seat...all in a desperate attempt not to break out into that donkey laugh of her's. It was futile...all the stern credibility that I had built up since we left the store disappeared as her haws and guffaws filled the car.

It was time to let it go anyway...he had listened and stopped cryin' when I told him to. We had a good evenin' from then on out and that's how the week wrapped up.

* Meaning him as a person...there's been plenty of aggravation raisin' his stanky, loud a****** to this point.


Q if you don't understand something you could always ask in a comment...you know actually participate LURKER. Maybe somebody else has similar questions.

80's UK: Squeezy Cheese and Whine

In the continuing effort to smarten up The Sisters poncey tea party (and to keep her from running her friends off with Level 42 and Simply Red) we offer the 80's UK side...

Side: Ponce

1. Tainted Love - Soft Cell



2. It's My Life - Talk Talk

3. Love Plus One - Haircut 100


4. Rio - Duran Duran

Should Be...

That **** is WIZARD!

5. Material Girl - Madonna
Her moment...all down hill from that point on.

6. Bizarre Love Triangle - New Order

7. Goody Two Shoes - Adam and the Ants.

8. Doctor Martens Boots - Alexei Sayle

9. Don't You Want Me - Human League

10. Poison Arrow - ABC

11. If You Were Here - Thompson Twins


12. Just Can't Get Enough - Dee-pesh-kamode

13. I Want Candy - Bow Wow Wow

14. What is Love - Howard Jones

15. Dancing Horses - Echo and the Bunnymen

Should be...



Cheerio B***es!

The 80's: A Sophisticated Approach

In between themed toddler birthday parties, running marathons and working at a non-profit..The Sister gets together with a Supper Club.

It's her turn to host this month. Never one to leave a bad idea alone when it can easily be made so much worse...she has decided to give her night an 80s theme. My brother-in-law rightfully dreads this, not as a one-off but, as a challenge to the rest of the club. You can just see it in his face when she talks about it...this is all leading to a night some months from now when he'll be forced to talk like a pirate if he wants the salt.

For her it's an excuse to indulge in her favorite delusion...the 80's According to S****t...by making a mixed CD (shouldn't that really be a tape?). Thursday night, after supper, we sat around the table and listened as she explained which bands and songs were being considered...the fist troubling omission between all the Level 42 and Huey Lewis was Berlin.

How can you put a new wavish/80's compilation together without The Metro?



Then she balked at Haircut 100!

My own personal 80's list would consist only of a Fall side and a Prince side...but for her purposes, as vague and sketchy as they were turning out to be, how can you exclude Love Plus One???

"Well," she says, "I love those songs but, my taste in music is a little more, you know, sophisticated than most"...most what? 8 year olds.

Then she screwed up her face at Don't You Forget About Me. The song hits me like a bad smell too, but it is The Breakfast Club and she's throwing an 80's themed party drenched in day-glow and tied with a scrunchy...the decision's not really her's to make.

Obviously she needs help..and as y'all know, because I've told you so many times, I am nothing if not a loving and doting brother. As always...I'm here to help.

Here is your list lil Sister...it might not rise to the esoteric levels of sophistication you're comfortable with...but It'll be a hit.

We'll break into sides...keeping with the theme.

Side: Bougie

1. The Metro - Berlin

2. Head Over Heels - Go Gos

This really is one of my favorites.

3. Kids in America - Kim Wilde

4. Shake It Up - The Cars

5. B52's - 52 Girls


I know I know...but you tell me which decade it's most comfortable in.

6. Devo - Whip IT

7. The Waitresses - I Know What Boys Like

8. Stray Cat's - Rock This Town

9. Joan Jett & The Blackhearts - I Love RocknRoll

10. When Doves Cry - Prince



Y'all feel free to make your own suggestions...she really needs the help.

I'm off to work on Side: Ponce.

Biographical Tid Bit #3

I was almost killed by, and may yet die from embarrassment because of...one of these.




It happened in the parking lot at Hudson Salvage in Brandon...I'll never forget it. We had just left the store and were headed across the parking lot to the car when my right foot slid...more like a glide really...out from under me. It was so sudden and severe that Martha grabbed my arm.

I was the first to notice what had happened. I stared at the rubbery fleshy yellow lump in silence...not wanting to believe it while my mind started calculating the implications of what had happened.

Then I heard it...a guttural braying that was hard to place...like a pony and elephant having a heated argument..hahuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh heeeeh heeeh heeh...followed by gasping...huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh and sighing....aaahhhhhhhhhh...over and over. It sounded like the universe was laughing at me but it was just Martha...and when the sister found out....

It's a sound that's echoed in my head for 14 years.

"You slipped on a banana peel." That's their answer to everything.

As has been recently established by one of our loyal readers, I have the looks of a young Marlon Brando..."You slipped on a Banana Peel."

Style? I've got miles and miles. Martha's moseyin' around this morning in a pair of, admittedly flattering, sweatpants and short terry-cloth robe while I'm lounging in a red and white gingham oxford, a pair of perfectly faded jeans and loafers. Ralph Lauren told me he wanted to have my baby..."You slipped on a Banana Peel."

The two of them have a good degree from fine institutions. I have degrees from Superstar institutions...."You slipped on a Banana Peel."

I have a better record collection than both of 'em put together. They think James Chance was a game show host and neither one of 'em could name one Slint song or pick Mark E Smith out of lineup...."You slipped on a Banana Peel."

Etc.

Nothing I've done in life or may yet do can get out from under the shadow of that banana peel. This may end up being the only biographical tidbit that matters in the end.

Karaoke Queen

If you're a long time reader you will have noticed the recent silence of The Sister. She's been on a soft boycott of the blog ever since I told everybody she used to live in Pearl.

While the absence of insults has been pleasant I'm gonna go ahead and buckle...say something nice. It's for the boy. He was hurt when his aunt didn't comment on his smokin' guitar licks...I tried to tell him that it didn't mean she didn't love him, but...the little fella was just crushed.

So...

The sister is not without talents. As y'all know she has an artist's flair for telling people to kiss, stuff, and shut things...and she has the power to sniff out demons.

She's also a superstar at the Karaoke. Below is a still and some audio from one of her classic sets.





For those of you who may not know...this what the sister's on about.



USA! USA! USA!

Lent

I'm not gonna talk about what I'm giving up for Lent...that would be inappropriate and gross in a forum like this, BUT...

I will talk about what I thought about giving up.

I thought long and hard about giving up wise-cracks for Lent...trying to be nice and thoughtfully responsive to those that comment here on the blog...mainly Adam and the Sister. Allan would get it worst of all, but he's a big Planter now and too busy with the help to stop by and share with us, so...

I couldn't do it though...first of all the Sister deserves most of what she gets. Y'all know how she talks to me. Just last night..."stuff-it moron." Two, I'm afraid after all these years Adam wouldn't know who he was talking to or how to deal with it...he might try to e-hug me. Three, NAT's on the verge of being in need of harassment...especially if he keeps laughing at the Sister's jokes. Four, you never know when Allan might stop swinging the whip for a mint julep break and make an apperance...it's just too much to ask of week soul like me.

Happy Mardi Gras.

The Sister Installment #1

With an insatiable need for attention The Sister has been begging for another post of her own.

I thought about it for a while and...maybe the best way to avoid these daily requests...the groveling...would be to start a regular segment devoted to facts about The Sister. Tid bits, points of interest, etc.

For instance...here's a tasty morsel...The Sister lived for a time in beautiful Pearl, Mississippi. The only family member to have done so.

You know I'm suprised...the idea was born out of necessity, but I actually enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to the next one.

The Judgment of Parents and Children

Me and Martha have been parents now for two and half years. We're makin' it I reckon...he's healthy, we can take him out in public, people like bein' around him, he minds well. Well, at least he minds other adults...his "teachers", the lady who watches him at Church and The Sister.

He's constantly pushin' it with us...always schemin' and get's a little lippy sometimes. He's got his Moma's big, beautiful brown eyes and a stubborn streak that's force is as strong as it's origins are mysterious. :cough:

We were told that as parents we'd make mistakes...then we were told again, then again, and again. Got emails and text sayin' you will screw up...received a certified letter saying it's inevitable...some relative or close friend hired a sky writer. It was if we hadn't been raised by parents of our own :) .

I'm sure we're messin' up somewhere...not whippin' him enough I reckon. My Momma expresses regret now about every whoopin' she ever gave me, but the truth is I deserved 'em. I wasn't nearly as bad as The Sister of course, but if there was one or two that I didn't deserve...there was one or two things she didn't know about. It all evens out.

I'm not really thinkin' about parental regrets this morning though...it's too early for that anyway. It'll be years before we know just how badly we've screwed up. I'm thinking of things I should have done differently as a kid.

And not like handing my Daddy an atrocious mid-term report right after the Blues Brothers finished. I thought for sure he'd be in a better mood to take it after laughing for two hours straight...that just...that...that turned out to be a really bad idea.

I'm talking about the things I could've and should've tried to get away with like the all-ages Replacements show in the summer of 88. I was staying with my buddy for a couple of weeks in Tallahassee. We were millin' around pestering college kids in Vinyl Fever like we did most afternoons when we heard the Replacements would be playing that Friday night at the Musical Moon.

We knew we'd have to get permission but like most 15 years olds we never internalized anything...we were gonna be there. His momma was fine with it as long as my parents were. Shockingly the answer was no...they didn't want me getting a head-start hanging out in bars. Crushed...just crushed.

We should've gone...we snuck out of his house all the time anyway. The thing is we didn't ask permission to sneak out...we never had discussed sneaking out of the house so no one had ever specifically said we couldn't...it wasn't a matter of direct defiance you see.

My parents had done a really good in the sense that I hated the idea of disappointing them. The other thing was I just didn't want the hassle of getting in trouble...I'd be on my own soon enough. Plus that little town we lived in at the time was bad enough without being stuck in my room for a month. We went to the movies instead. Faced with a direct "No you may not"...I flinched. I should've run the risk...even if we'd gotten caught I'd have seen The Replacements* and chances are I'd be ungrounded by now.

Funny thing is that same summer or maybe the next...I ended up in a seedy apartment complex inhabited by a punk-rock car thief and the Filipino drug dealers he worked for. I had been give permission to go to the movies with an older associate that must remain nameless and ended up getting to know his friends instead...I actually thought we were going to the movies when we left the house. I hadn't been told I couldn't hang out with car thieves and dope pushers...besides what was I suppose to say when the little dealers walked in carrying Domino's pizza and automatic rifles...."I don't think my momma would want me here"?

Despite the danger and the illicit stench of the affair...I can't say I regret it. The car thief turned out the be the genuine article (to this day he may the only actual punk I ever talked to)...he had a bleached pompadour and his arms were covered in tattoos...this was long before every Sunday School teacher had a sunburst or a lily tattooed on her ankle. The only people I knew who had tattoos were old men like my Grandpa or fishermen. He was from Los Angeles and he'd seen everybody...Minutemen, Black Flag, Husker Du and on. He knew Billy Zoom from X.

Of course when I asked about him some years later I was told he'd been killed by the cops. I wasn't sure how my...associate...had come to know these jokers, but if I had to guess it was probably at an all ages show :).

Anyway...

*I get what comfort I can by reminding myself that by this point Bob Stinson had been kicked out of the band...so it wasn't really the Replacements anyway.