Hold that Thought Punk.

Last weekend, in an attempt to never leave the house again...ever, I watched a documentary about Joe Strummer. I'm not sure I learned anything new...I was already certain that John Cusack has nothing of interest to say about anything before he popped up in this pogram. I'd never really seen the timeline of his early life straight through like that...public school (boarding school we'd call it), the quasi-hippie days and the sense of having missed the revolution...his recruitment into Punk Rock....

Later in the week, I read an article about Conservatism and Modernism...the importance of Modernism in bringing about the kind of a-political, anti-ideaology, Conservatism that your author subscribes to...coming to tradition and belief through an absolute skepticism that anything can ever be known. Much of it focused on T.S. Eliot....but, the article glanced against Punk Rock describing it as the last Modern expression in Popular Culture.*



It was the last sight of, what one reader called, "manly nihilsm." The last unflinching look at a world without Authority and the consequences of such a situation.

It's here that Strummer comes back into the picture. That's where we'll pick it up...after tomorrow or, not. We can't talk about it today because this post is about to be buried.

Tomorrow, the Southeaster Conference will decide it's Champion as the Georgia Bulldogs and the Alabama Crimson Tide get after it in Atlanta. Y'all know we ain't missin' that.



HUNKER DOWN!

ROOOOLL TIDE!

Be here or be square punks!


*Here we could swerve into a lengthy discussion about the towering genius of Mark E Smith and the Mighty Fall but, we probably shouldn't. We should point to No Wave, strains of Hip Hop, and the Slackers of the author's youth as other examples...and so we have.

Back to the Shuck and Jive

Last night, Martha bought tickets to see B.B. King in January. We're takin' the Big Man and I can't wait. He's still chapped about not being able to go in the clubs when we were on Beale St.. Every time I go to work in Memphis...I have to explain to him that I am not going to Beale. I'm going to the boring part of Memphis. He never looks very satisfied with that answer.



I was maybe ten before I had a stereo of my own. Before that I carried a tape recorder around. The only cassette I had was a collection of  B.B. King's Hits. I just kinda took possession of it. Daddy didn't seem to mind too much.

He was up all last week.

Recently, Martha actually took some time to read the blog. "No wonder you love your job so much," she laughed..."your out there every day with your people." They're my Daddy's people too...and that's never lost on me.

As a kid, nothing tickled me more than his stories from the road. The seafood market owner that ran numbers...the murderous wives..."When you see that nigga you tell him I'm comin' to kill him"...collecting money in Jukes on a Friday nights...clearing out of a house with the owner because a snake had slithered into the kitchen. Nothing much has changed.



(Daddy was born in a house...probably deeper in the woods than Otis)

Macon, Georgia was the scene for a lot of these stories. The place has a kinda hold on him and he loves it but, I don't think it was always a happy time. He seems to have been kinda in between. He lived in efficiency and didn't own any more than could be thrown in an MGB...at short notice. Some clothes and a hi-fi.

He jokes about having pheasant under glass for Thanksgiving at Ocmulgee. Translation: sitting on the side of an Indian mound, drinking Wild Turkey...watching the river.




He laughs...a kinda squeezed cackle that I've inherited.

Slots, Sleeping Pills and Blueberry Muffins

Tuesday night I stayed in Baton Rouge...a non-smoking room at a Hampton Inn. I was lucky to get one at all.

Y'all remember Issac? The category one hurricane that come through Louisiana and Mississippi a few months ago? People are still down there "cleaning up"...cashing government checks to do it no doubt.

So, I'm still havin' to take what I can get in the area. Smoking becomes a real chore...Down the elevator...out the door...back in the door (which is locked for your protection)...up the elevator. What a hassle...all that walking.

It has an adverse effect on the blogging too. I can't do this crap without easy access to cigarettes That's right, I'm sacrificing minutes of my life for y'all...which, according to gov. propaganda, would go on forever if I walked more and didn't smoke.

I just don't stay in those rooms. I go where a human can still be. I go to the Casino. There I can sit and smoke indoors. The only walking I have to do is to the bathroom or from the Kenny Rogers Gambler to the Kitty Glitter slot machines. It might cost me twenty bucks...but, on the other hand, I could win big and walk out of there with enough money to make it sprinkle.

There are table games...Black Jack or Py Gow Flying Nija 4 card poker,etc. Those require way too much thinking and effort (you have to pick up the cards and look at them...toss them back..do basic Math). I'm not there to work, or think...I'm there to sit on my butt and smoke...with a glazed over look...hypnotized by the clink or the thunk of each slot falling into place, by the regular calls from a pleasant voice.."Cocktails? Drink? Cocktails?" Only to be awakened by the dazzling lights and fireballs of a jackpot. A jackpot I had no control over...a cosmic gift.

Eventually, even degenerate penny gamblers like myself have to go home.*  Back to the room where I can't smoke and nobody brings me coffee...where I can only flip the channels without hope of a two dollar jackpot. It sucks. There's really nothing for it but to go to sleep.

That can be a problem. In the quiet, my mind becomes as restless as my body is lazy. The dumbest things will set my mind racing...tomorrow, should I work in Baton Rouge long enough to have dinner at Zippy's Tacos. That's gonna put me in Leesville pretty late...but man, those are some good tacos.

Stupid ***.

That's when I reach for the sleepy time. Of course, it's not a magic pill. I'm usually jacked up on coffee and the adrenaline that comes from being on the verge of losing 50 cents for hours on end. After chewing up the pill there's probably 30 minutes before things go wobbly...then dark. During that half hour, for whatever reason, the stuff drives my sweet tooth crazy.

This presented a problem Tuesday night. I didn't have anything in the room.  The only vending machines in the place were for Cokecolas.  Sometimes they put cookies out at the front desk...worth a shot. It was not worth putting my shoes on though. I know y'all are used to only seeing pictures of me perfectly quaffed but my hair does get a little kinky after dark and on weekends...like a pompadoor that's been exploded with a cheery bomb.

So off I go...fright wig, barefooted...to find something sweet. Poor kid at the front desk looked a little scared when...as I, wavering slightly, demanded to know where the cookies were.

"You got anything sweet back 'ere brother?"

"Uhhh no sir...ummm...no. I'm sorry sir."

That's when I noticed the box of breakfast items for the next mornings to-go bags.

"Hey...what about them muffins man?"

I'm sure he thought I was high as a kite..upstairs hittin' the bong in my non-smoking room and it was with noticeable relief in his face (anything to get rid of me) that he handed me a blueberry muffin.

One muffin'?  He obviously didn't understand. I was gettin' ready to ask for another when the phone rang. So, while he reached for the that, I lunged across the counter and snatched up more muffins then scurried off back to my room.

The next morning, I woke to find crumbs and wrappers scattered around the desk. At least I hadn't eatin' them in bed.

It's hard out there on the road.




*I suppose if I drank while I was gambling I might be more inclined to stay there all night but, I haven't stooped that low yet. I do drinks all their coffees though.

Radio Ennui: Jackson

Workin' in Jackson this week...hate it. Quirks of the industry make it a drag. Too many pigs at the trough.



I do get to sleep at home...where the big man's been coughing. He's sick and inbetween burst of energy that are expended by pounding on me...he's pitiful, gets surely and hogs his Momma's attention.



I lost a filling...a jagged tooth dines on tongue.



I'm goin to Louisiana.

I Been There. I Been There.

We are still hip deep in boxes but, we are no longer residence of Hinds County...the moochers and their elected goons, the thieves, the cops and murderers are no longer our problem.

From here on out, it's all Sunshine and Camels.

Regular programming will resume as soon as I can find a place to sit.

Picking Daisies.

My actual job, how I spend my days, is a blast. Despite their initial concerns that I was over-qualified or whatever and that I'd get bored...I love it. All I've heard is what a bang up job I've been doing...more evidence of my embarrassing, slobbering love for what I do.

Well we can't have that....

Evidently I'm supposed to be filling out a weekly pre-report. A report that lists all the stops I'll be making the next week. Then on the following Friday, I amend that report to show what I actually did and do the next weeks pre-report.

Understand that I only have the most general control over where I'm going. I make arrangements to ride with sales reps...I go where they go. That means that I have to request a list of all the stops we'll be making...so I can fill out my weekly pre-report.

"Well ________ didn't have any problem getting the reps to do it."

Good point. Why don't I go ask him how he did it? Only I can't....because he QUIT.

As it turns out, despite the procedural proficiency of the fella before me...the reps don't seem to know the drill. When I requested a list of stops from the fella I'll be riding with on Tuesday...he sent me a list of ten place names. No address, no phone number...not even a city name.

That's an issue because I'm not simply making a list of where I'll be stopping. I have to enter each stop into a piece of software that they got on the black market when the Soviet Union collapsed. You can't enter anything without an address and a phone number.

I spent an hour on Friday afternoon looking up addresses and phone numbers...for places I WILL BE IN ON TUESDAY. An hour of the most precious and finite resource in the Universe...looking for something that I don't need until Friday and which will be right in front of my face on Tuesday.

Of course it's no surprise that the rep doesn't know the procedure. Why would he considering that the number of folks I've ridden with who have even the foggiest ******* of who _______ is could be counted on one hand. I guess he was too busy filing out paper work to get out and do his job. Maybe I could do like the fella before him and just make it all up and go play golf.

At this point you may be asking yourself...and you would be right to...how did they know he was just making it up? After all he wrote it down, entered into The Software...therefore it must have happened. The Software doesn't lie.

Heretical as it may sound, it is possible to use The Software as a tool for lying. They get reports everyday on what product is and isn't moving. Cases, numbers...M-O-N-E-Y..money. People who love to fill out reports...they're the same people that can't be shut up during meetings...are usually people that don't do any actual work.

Every office, every job, has it's stupidities. First thing Monday morning I have to go pick up some product. It takes these jokers two hours to get my samples together...even though the request was made three days in advance. That's what it takes to get the product though...product I sell so I can make them money and they can pay me. It's stupid but it's necessary if we want the samples.

I've done things that were even less necessary than these pre-reports..imaginary things. During basic training when the Drill Sergeants would get a case of the red-*** they'd march us to a freshly mowed clearing and tell us to pick daisies. Of course, I had signed on for that...singed on to have my will subsumed.

This isn't the Army...we don't have that kinda deal. This is stupid and unnecessary...it's a leash. It's a cavalier attitude toward my time and efforts and it's got me on the verge of a depersonalizing rage.

I guess I'll just have to take the place over.

I AM NOT SHOUTING!!!

Because if I did the pressure in my face would shift and my head might explode.

SICK.

This has been the longest nastiest bought of sinus trouble I've had...maybe ever. I actually left work early today.

What do I expect y'all to do about it?

Feel sorry for me and tell me I'm gonna get better.

A Human at Communion

I took Communion yesterday...like most Sundays.

It's the culmination of the worship service, it's a sacrament, it's supper in the presence of God...God to "whom all desires are known and from whom no secrets are hid." It's the one opportunity in the week to focus on the eternal and stop fighting the mind...what's the point?

Well it only takes about half a second to realize why I keep my mind in a head lock most of the time.

I know some of you don't believe any of this but, just play along with me...what would you think about if you were in presence of God?

You probably wouldn't be worried about whether you had sat on something that morning. We sit in the back and usually most the congregation is seated again by the time we're up waiting to approach the alter...it's even worse, like yesterday when I'm an usher, and one of the last people to go up. Everybody is looking at your backside. Of course, they almost certainly are not but, this is the silly crap that goes through my mind sometimes..is there a giant piece of lent or string hanging off the back of my trousers or worse did I get powdered sugar all over the car seat when I stopped for donuts?

Worst of all...I sometimes have these stupid thoughts at the alter. Dumbest of all, and it's happens more often then I care to admit...I worry that if I don't get that wafer swallowed I'm going to back wash crumbs into the chalice!

I admitted this to Martha yesterday,

"...do you know what I mean?"

She looked at me like I had a peanut bush growing out the top of my head.

"I mean..you know...I worry about it sometimes...you know because I'm so so focused on...you know..."

"That is disgusting!"

Of course Martha never worries about such things. It would be impossible for her to do anything so uncouth even on accident...but, I guarantee she'll be peeking in that Cup before she drinks from it from here on out.

Not only am I an imbecile but, it's contagious. Sorry Martha.

Lent - Round Two

Sunday was Rose Sunday.

Six in the morning I'm at Bedi's Texaco inhaling an Iced Texas-Sized Honey Bun. Then with my faced stuffed like a gerbil hoarding seed I squeezed a cigarette in between my cheeks...I had to get one more before the coffee went cold.

It's Refreshment Sunday...not Gluttony Sunday, but bet...at 11:59 and 30 seconds I was frantically chewing a mouthful of M&Ms tryin' to get 'em down before midnight.

Just sad...and wrong.

Somehow I don't think this kind of excess, or legalism, has anything to do with Lent.

Of course I'm not much better while fasting. I've limited myself to 15 cigarettes a day...and what do I do? I smoke halfs...quarters. See it's OK if I go out for a sixteenth time 'cause I only smoked a half of the last one. Sad...it's not like I normally pull on 'em til I can taste the filter. By the time Easter gets here I'll be carrying a ruler around in my pocket...by smoking 3/4 of each cigarette I can actually step out three more times...six if I only smoke a half each time.

That's pathetic man.

Then, in light of the lenten fasts, there's my normal sketchy behavior and the questions that raises. If I was only required to love my neighbor as myself for 40 days a year I could probably find some sneaky way of pulling it off, but for the rest of my life....awwww come on. Yet isn't this what I've pledged to try and do just as surely as I've agreed to lay off the sweets for lent? I mean I wouldn't think of stopping by the donut shop this afternoon....well that's not true...I'll be thinking about it...A LOT, but I wouldn't dare do it because I've said I wouldn't.

But let some old lady pay for her groceries with a check in front of me at the store. I'll spend that twenty minutes fantasizing about elaborate scenarios in which she get's a flat tire on the way home...that's just mean. Yesterday at a light...there was a fella going from car to car beggin' for money. All I could think was please don't bother me dood...and then when the light went green and I had to wait while the lady in front of me dug around for a dolla to give 'im...I got uhhmm...a little impatient.

I know not every one of these beggars is legitimate. There's a fella at Waffle House on High Street that's been beggin' for twenty years...just tryin' to get enough money for a bus ticket to Baton Rouge where his cousin lives. That's not the point though...I coulda given that fella a dollar and I certainly could have not gotten so bent about having to wait three seconds at a green light.

Probably more important than me not eating a Honey Bun this afternoon...

Even though I could eat one the size of a pillow.

Post #11

Earlier this week I stood in my drive pondering an asinine observation that I'd been presented with.

The next night at Five Guys I was asked to consider what I wanted on my hamburger and announce my decision to the girl takin' orders...it's like required. Well that too turned out to be an utterly meaningless moment in time.

Of course I got the soggy, wilted lettuce pasted with mayonnaise to the top bun of my cheeseburger.

My expectations for burger stands aren't high...and it wasn't my last meal, it wasn't even that they didn't do what I asked them to do...what I was paying them to do.

It's the pointless exchange...a Kabuki Dance. And like the fact that a Latin batter can't hit pitchers named Dave this episode has been filed and is now taking up space in my brain...they never go away.

No wonder it's a struggle to maintain worthwhile memories.

Course I don't know what I did today that's gonna stand out 20 years from now...
Me and the boy watched Bo Diddly videos while his Mamma got ready for church.
I went to meet somebody who didn't show up for coffee.
I was an usher at church.
Sermon on Faith was good Abraham, Mary and Martha, Kierkegaard
Communion
I had some dirty rice that was pretty good for dinner.
Cleaned my pipe
Went and got some coffee...smoked the pipe.
Went to the grocery...not really seeing anything durable enough to last.

Weird. I enjoyed the day and this is certainly not a call or declaration to make every moment count. Who's got the energy for that crap? We live memories though...grasp on yesterday has already started to weakin. Lord willin I'll be sittin' somewhere 10 years from now with just a handful of memories from this whole year...most of what I'm doing right now is destined for the void. The implications are just weird.