Newscoma

We are auspiciously off the map when it comes to certain things. Hoots is a state of mind, of course, but it’s also a hidden little treasure if you are looking. Not a lot of people seek us out, and maybe that’s why we are allowed in some ways to do our own thing.

That is the way of all the Hoots in America. We make our own way.

And we have our little inroads to different and exquisite types of music, although we will never get credit for it. We are too far north of Beale Street, too far west of Nashville and only four-lanes tie us to the Interstate. It’s not necessarily easy to get to Hoots, but it’s easy for those of us who seek it to get out. We usually come back though.

We are the land of Gordon Stoker of Jordonaires fame and Dez Dickerson has connections here. His grandfather, as the story goes, worked in the school cafeteria and is still talked about for being a kind man and for his biscuit making ability. When Prince played here two decades ago, limos parked in front of one of the college hang-outs as he, and Dez, walked around a local nightclub called Oz.  People who were there, and now are in their mid-40s, talk about the day that Prince came to town in his high heels, checking out the nightlife. Little did they know that his guitarist already had connections here.

The tales we remember may not always be correct, but legends usually are never born without a bit of suspension of disbelief. But these are things that happened and although they might not seem a lot to people not from here, they are part of the legacy.

There is a folk singer that comes through Hoots about twice a year from New York. He found us through another band and he drops his anchor here each year as he heads to the The International Folk Alliance Conference in Memphis each year, which is next week. His name is Richard Thorne. In some ways, I think we tickle and intrigue him because he keeps returning to play his set, heads to Memphis for the conference and to pursue his music. His songs are funny and poignant, as all good folk music has both elements and he does both well. He sings of trains and corporations taking advantage of the needy, and long ago thoughts of a simpler time.

And he wears a smashing hat.

We met him last year and he returned last night to Mabel’s favorite bar. I ran late, waiting to go with Squirrel Queen, who is in the heart of high school tournament time. Two games a night have begun with every night but Sunday and thus she will cover roughly 12 games this upcoming week alone. I tease her about the glamorous world of sports writing and she usually playfully punches me in the arm. We know it’s not.

It was time for second act, which we almost missed due to a sick dog (not Mabel) and the games. Followed by another band that really deserves more attention, and is getting it to a degree, named Old Haul, we listened to original music where the lead singer growls at you with a deep raspy voice that is full of tender outrage. The band, all seven of them, playing what they call Americana which is what it is. Their following is legendary around here and now they will play the Cove in Memphis on the 20th of this month so I believe things are looking good. There is a bigger audience outside of Hoots, which goes without saying. I talked to the bass player and we discussed the club. I told him he’d like it, that it reminded me of bars they play around here so he’d be comfortable. I think he just wants to play, no matter where it is. As I was raised by a musician, I understand this wanderlust.

The bar was packed, with Pabst Blue Ribbon and Budweiser flowing as strong as the Mississippi, and Thorne laughed at the insanely cheap cost of beer with me as we bellied up to the bar. I was late, missing most of his set, I admit, but as I said before, it’s tourney time so he was gracious and understanding. We talked about how in New York, you’d have to take out a bank note for three beers but in Hoots, a tenner will give you a nice buzz to send you on your way. He said he’d never eaten at the Rendezvous, which I recommended, but that he’d gotten to go to Sun and Staxx records on past excursions to the, as Cracker calls it, the Bluff on the Big Muddy.

“How’s the newspaper?” he asked as Old Haul was setting up for their set.

“I’m not there anymore,” I smiled. “My life-long career choice decided it didn’t need me anymore. Hell of a time to be a paid writer.”

“What are you now?” he said, concerned. I appreciated the worried look on his face more than words can say.

“Still working on that,” I laughed although there are times that it throws me into the deep end of the pool because my identity was so tied up in that, even eight months later.

He nodded and I realized that, most likely, folk artists and freelance writers have a hell of a lot more in common than you would think.

We talked more about Memphis. He asked me about Midtown, and that he’d heard of it and wondered if he should go exploring. I told him that Old Haul was playing the Cove and that he might want to go see them before he heads back to NYC. He said he might. I wrote down some of the places I’d learned about that he might like and drew him a map from the Marriot.

“Memphis is one spread out place, isn’t it?” he said looking at the short list that I’d written down on a lavender piece of paper that the bartender gave me and the crude map I’d drawn highlighting how to take Union down to Midtown and spotlighting a couple of place on Madison.

Badger Beth and Richard Thorne showing how Twitter works

As we talked, I took his picture and showed him how to put it up on Twitter. He laughed saying that it was hard enough just keeping up with his Myspace page but I told him he might want to use it for immediacy if he was so inclined. Not everyone is as big of a fan of Twitter as I am, so I tend to be an evangelist about it with people that still don’t get it.

The conversation came to a close during the opening riffs coming from the small stage that could not accommodate all the members of the band, who had spilled out onto the makeshift dance floor. He watched them and his eyes showed appreciation for Old Haul, a band that isn’t playing by the rules. I think he liked that.

Yes, we are off the beaten path. If you navigate through the rocks and winding roads that get you here, sometimes you might find a bit of paradise hidden from view.

I’ve been told a lot about politics over the years, some of it good and some of it downright offensive, but the best thing that I ever learned that has stuck with me for roughly 20 years came from a man named Jimmy Westbrook, who is a county commissioner in our fair county, and who has a pretty illustrious career of 40 odd years in the state as well.

We were going through a very local, and contentious, fight about school consolidation at that time.  It was ugly and I mean downright vicious. People would shout at commission meetings, it took up pretty much all of  my time as a very young, and arrogant, buck reporter at the local radio station. These guys made teabaggers look like puppies because this was personal and it was local. One night the room was so full that I ended up having to sit in the the chair of the county executive (they are now called mayors) while he squeezed into a very tight table of 20 commissioners, all on different sides of the issue. It was a warm evening and as people came in from their day jobs at the field, or from the factories, the room smelled a bit ripe with sweat and anger.

It was one of the few times in my life that not only could you feel the coils of hostility, but you could smell fury. Don’t mess with people’s community, church or kids and that was the elephant that protesters brought into the room.

The meeting wasn’t that much different than many of them during that particular issue. There was shouting, an occasional fist wave and I remember one particular commissioner, who I won’t name, looking pretty much terrified. These people were angry that the commission wanted to shut down four of six high schools. They saw their communities potential deaths with that action, which came down to countywide matching funding and having to accommodate bonds bricks and mortar projects as well as maintaining what we already had..  Proponents felt two larger schools would give more opportunity and extra state funding. Some of the older schools were in disrepair and they knew that it was going to cost hand over fist to get them up to code. And this was long before the recession that we are undergoing now hit.

It was a dilemma.

Nothing was really resolved that night and the meetings would continue for weeks with much the same results. I remained neutral even though I did have an opinion which doesn’t matter now. I edited sound diligently every night (on carts, you old time radioheads and even won a few awards for my efforts) and each morning we would have those one to two minute soundbites. As it continued, we broadcast the meetings live because it was all that anyone was talking about.

It was the big news.

On that particular night, Westbrook, who is one of those bulldog politicians with a booming voice who can roll his eyes at what he perceives to be unseemliness very easily, tried to make the peace that night because he realized that no one was in the mood to talk. I don’t remember everything he said as he had the floor, but basically it was that no one was going to be able to have a conversation when they were mad as rip and that everyone needed to clear their heads.

That’s the way things are done here in Hoots.

After the meeting, I asked for a quote to use on the next day’s broadcast, which he gave me. After I had put the mic away, I asked him if this was ever going to get better. I was exhausted, the commissioners were exhausted but more importantly, the entire county was worn the hell out from the sheer emotion of it all.

“The thing is that we all need to live together. After any bit of politicking, you need to be in the right mind, that even if you disagreed on something completely, to be able to sit down and have a cup of coffee or a beer with that person you were arguing with before. That’s the way things work. Some times you are going to win, and other times you are going to lose, but we still live together. We forget that sometimes.”

“Do you think we will ever get back to that point?” I asked.

“I do, but I also want you to know that if you are able to have that cup of coffee,” he said. “Then the other sides knows you mean business when you pick a battle you believe is worth winning.”

That’s how I remember it. My grandfather, who was a republican, taught that lesson as well although he died nearly a decade before the consolidation issue hit the county. I guess those were just different times.

We all have to live together.

The issue, as controversial things do, winded down after time. Other issues replaced that one but maybe with not the fervor that the school one did.

I learned something from both men at different times in my life.

So if you were ever wondering, that’s where I came from. You may disagree with me sometimes, but I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and we’ll talk about it.

We can at least figure it out if we are having a conversation because, as they said, we have to live together despite it all.

In Hoots, you know when folks like someone because they will say “he’s a good ol’ boy.” I find this to be extremely charming. I find that men say this more than women do. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman say it.

I guess I will, just to even things out in the cosmos. This isn’t really going anywhere, but it’s something that Squirrelly and I discussed yesterday and it made us laugh. It really is a compliment when you hear it in a sentence.

2009 is over. I was just reminding you in case you didn’t know because that pesky mainstream media forgot to mention it the past few days. You would have never remembered if I hadn’t reminded you.

As you know, Mr. Jimmy is one of my favorite people. I was blessed to see him on New Year’s Eve. We didn’t do anything really except made a brief appearance and then like good little footsoldiers in their 40s, headed to Chez Coma. SQ fell asleep and I dorked around on the interwebz. The highlight though was hearing Mr. Jimmy cuss up a blue storm, wave his cane around and tell me that I could NOT have his picture made with him.

I won but it was a challenge.

I truly believe that Mr. Jimmy needs to go to Nashville or Washington. Things would be cleaned up in no time.  He’s sort of been out of site lately and celebrated a birthday last week, but this was his first time out of the house so we helped him a bit belatedly. He played a bit of the curmudgeon for a few minutes, but you could tell he was having a great time.

His hat is always smashing.

I realize I look craptacular but his hand in this picture creeping out there was fabulous. He’s a handsome gent.

So let’s lift our dirty glasses from last night, and celebrate this new year.

And let’s also remember that Mr. Jimmy is a good ol’ boy. (I told you I’d work it in.)

As Ferris Bueller said after he played a clarinet pretty horribly, “Never had one lesson!”

That pretty much sums up how I got into blogging. I just did it for better or worse. And it’s been pretty wonderful.

Anytime there is a date or a moment that goes under the title of ‘birfday’ it falls into a time of some sort of reflection. I don’t think I celebrated the blog’s birthday last year now that I think about it. I made reference on Twitter and went about my day.

Mabel

Some of the changes I’ve seen in blogging have somewhat boggled my mind. I watch Christian Grantham’s Morning Browser quite a bit, and he is celebrating his 10th blog anniversary today.  Several of us chatted at his site about some of the changes in blogging. I thought about this after the show ended and thought that I would give all seven of you some things I’ve observed over the past four years. CG has his observations about the last 10.

• When I started blogging, it was purely for fun. I had no expectations. The first person I linked to was Aunt B. The funny thing is that I never thought I’d meet her. Now, I would venture to say, she is one of my best buddies who I talk to offline as well. I also think it was a different time four years back. We wanted a community in this state and we went for it, despite not knowing what to expect. Some of those roots, defined by our blogging personalities, have been set in stone.
• We linked more several years ago because that let other bloggers know not only that we were reading them, but that we had their backs. We don’t do this as much now. It’s a part of the initial phases of blogging I miss and I hope to rectify that on my part immediately. Now our comments and feedback go to Twitter which isn’t so bad. It’s an immediate form of communicating our feedback, although I still feel like I win a prize when I get a comment or someone buys me a beer on the PayPal button (Blogging ain’t gonna make you any do-re-mi, campers. As a matter-of-fact, if you decide to go whole hog, it will cost you money just like any other hobby.)
• We adapt to new things and Twitter is definitely a new thing. Still shocks me that I’m moving on my third year this upcoming March over there.  I joined Twitter because I am a lemming and Rex Hammock/Jackson Miller were talking about it.  If you sit in a room with those two, I swear your IQ points go up.
• How has the interwebz changed? My dad is farming like a maniac on Facebook. I think that speaks volumes.
• Quick note: On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day I was in two locations that had no broadband access whatsoever. So if you wonder why I advocate for this issue, I think that also speaks volumes. One of these locations has two boys in middle school. They are going to need the Internet sooner rather than later..
• I kidded a lot last month I wasn’t a niche blogger per se. In the long run seeing the changes in blogging, I think this, sadly, may have hurt me long term. Just an observation as I guess I’m an old-school type of blogger. I like niche blogs though although this isn’t one of them. You see wonderful ideas that have skyrocketed like Home Ec 101 or anything that Kate O does, which is guaranteed wonderful.
• I wish to thank Michael Silence and Scott Adcox. They know why. I adore them both.
• I remember when I’d get 25 unique views a day back in my first few months and was pretty damned happy about it. I thought I’d hit the big time.
• I’ve always said that if Newscoma every became tedious, I would quit blogging. It’s just been this past year that I’ve seriously thought about setting down the mouse. I think that had to do with the unemployment blues. I’m glad you stuck it out with me during the “blue” period. I’m glad I stuck it out too. Let’s  hope that 2010 smiles down on Chez Coma and that this year gives us groovy and nifty full-time employment.
• If you were wondering, my favorite posts this year had to do with Mr. Jimmy who is awesome and what I learned over a beer and conversations in Hoots. I also like Dirk Diggler stories.
• If I haven’t mentioned all of you, I should. You guys are great.

So that’s on my mind this morning. I don’t know what the next year will bring, but it’s been a ride that I’ve enjoyed.

My mother who was light years in progressive thinking before most of us were born was caught in a divide of sorts in the late 50s and the early 60s. She was an independent thinker, a musician and political-minded.

And she taught us lessons from her experience. She used to drive my sister and I nuts by making us make choices at very young ages.

“So, what are you going to do?” she would ask us when we found ourselves in a quandry.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” I would say, wondering if such-and-such boy would ever notice my existence or what classes to take in school, etc. Flustered because I didn’t want to study for the test, if you will. I wanted my mom to give me the answers.

“You have to make the decision,” she would say. “If I make it, then how are you going to make on when I’m not around.”

Dang it. I wanted it to be easier than that.

She was a free thinker. She was a little older than your average hippie back then, but too young for the pragmatic world that came from a father in WWII’s generation that still believed a nation would do the right thing. Something I’m not always convinced of and neither was she.

She never thought that. She always said, “Things bubble in the back rooms of politics. And I bet you money there aren’t that many women, if any, sitting back there with a glass of bourbon and a cigar being a part of the decision-making.”

Now there are, but they are still too few.

But here in the conscientiousness of Hoots, which is everywhere, Aunt B. speaks some truths this morning about what goes on outside of the line of view of those who may not live in areas like ours.

There are three things coming together in an interesting way here in Tennessee. One is just the public acknowledgment of a private truth. Rural women and rural men do not lead lives very different from each other. Yes, this means they often face harsher social segregation, in order to enforce gender norms, but their day to day lives are not and have not been very different. Tennessee women have always been extremely competent and brash and able to lead. They’ve had to be in order to survive.

Let’s go back in a time machine and say that, in the past, women had to be clever to succeed and were, at times, thwarted just by the mere fact that they were women. The woman editor here that ran the newspaper but had to give her job “back” when the men came home from war. My grandmother, whose husband left and didn’t return, who raised two children by herself by bloodying her hands in factory work and hard labor. No man helped her. She did it herself. These women were feminists, although I would venture to say they didn’t know it. I would also say they were not any different from the men here because surviving is surviving, not matter what the gender. This was the 40s, campers. It wasn’t last week. B’s right. There isn’t a lot of difference, not even today on the lifestyles of rural men and women.

Just a little bit of Hoots 101 for you.

I realize that Adam is talking about an organic process of conservative women in leadership. I get that. But on the other hand, we must remember that the playing field for women is still not level so the rules are currently under constant revision. I am optimistic. I think there are men and women out there who want equality, but I also think there are a lot who don’t too. The other thing to remember is those women from the past. The ones you may know and the other ones, living in rural America (cause that’s my gig here) that worked and got very little in return other than pushing things forward for future generations. That was our gift. Once again, they got squat.

But they made it better for us. And this is probably happening right now as well, but only history will make that call.

I’m pleased to see women becoming leaders but for every article like Kleinheider’s which spotlights conservative women, I’d also like to see those same people not tearing Nancy Pelosi or Hilary Clinton a new one every time they take a breath. Or focusing on Beverly Marrero or Jeanne Richardson, who fight just as hard and are sometimes left out in the cold with snark and dismissals, not saying the left doesn’t do this practice too. They are amazing women. Yes, it’s Blackburn and Palin who have the shining stars right now, but there are others, underdogs if you will, who are also fighting the good fight. And there are tons of women behind the scenes, which is another story for another day.

So, decisions are made without an owner’s manual, just like they were 70 years ago (or throughout history, really.) And, yes, I believe that even now women, just like my grandmother, are getting their hands into the hard labor of political leadership. There is no right way or wrong way for this to happen.

It just needs to happen.

If those women are going to be in the backrooms with the bourbon and the cigars, not matter what letter is behind their names, they need to remember that they represent all of us, not just a vehicle to remain in office.

My grandmother didn’t know what a feminist was. She just was one.

There isn’t answers to this just yet. These decisions, however, cannot made by others because if you aren’t part of the process, you are going to have to take your soup the way it’s served and no one likes cold soup. It’s up to us, as democrats, to find our way and to look at posts and observations such as these as a learning curve as we head into 2010.

And Aunt B., did some schooling here. Democrats, you do need to follow some lessons from the right. They are getting the press for their female leaders.

You aren’t.

And you can change this.

Hoots threw it down last night as I caroused about the community watching and listening. People in Christmas sweaters reveled about, one woman had some moonshine (I do not lie. And I don’t know her name. I avoided the white lightning as I’m wont to do) and Outlaw Christmas songs played on various jukeboxes.

CNN, Always Creating Lovely Christmas Memories

I talked to an old acquaintance about my new job. In Hoots, people talk about politics more than you would think and it’s usually pretty astute. We talked about my boss which I’ve done pretty much nonstop in Hoots Proper for the past month which should escalate quite a bit in the coming month, about economic development and health reform interspersed with hugs, Christmas wishes and Tom Jones songs because nothing says Christmas like “What’s Up, Pussycat.”

Christmas is lean this year for many Hootsvillians including yours truly, but I decided a few days ago to get the hell over it. It’s not about how many gifts you can buy, but what you can give year round.  I cooked Vibinc’s famous stuffin’ muffins which came out pretty good although the next time I make them, I will make them more bite-sized. The dressing muffins were moist and tasty although they definitely needed more sage. And they were the size of Toledo, OH.  Dressing gut bombs but astonishingly good.

I shopped prior to the revelry and noticed most stores were not nearly as crowded as I thought they might be. Of course, everyone I know is as broke as a cabbage. I didn’t go to Wal Mart because of fear of having my picture taken and because I genuinely don’t like shopping at Wally World.

Squirrel Queen is a wrapping ninja. I tend to be like my dad, who would wait until the last minute to put his gifts to the family in bags that were left over that my mother didn’t need. Wrapping Fail is my middle name during the Christmas holidays.

OH in Hoots last night:

• “I only get to go to juke joints during Christmas. I might need to change this and do it all year round. This is fun!” ~ from a lovely woman in a Frosty the Snowman sweater.
• PLAY ROBERT EARL KEEN’S “MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM THE FAMILY!!!!” before I even joined in with “… a box of tampons and some Marlboooooro Lights!!” We sang loud and proud, campers.
• “I don’t want to talk about politics anymore. I want to talk about my favorite cheese.” ~ from an older man who had apparently imbibed in the contraband white lightening.
• “Charles Dickens’ and all of his ghost talk makes me want to go watch Elf. Screw the Ghost of Christmas’ past. If I wanted to go back into therapy, I would. “
• “What the hell, we never had Egg Nog at Christmas, we just had milk and cookies. Dad never wanted to drive to Fulton for the Nog part.” ~ Subtext: Hoots is a dry county. You have to give your tax money to Kentucky if you want any hooch.
• “My daughter is very worried about Santa Claus breaking into the house. And she made me get rid of the Elf on the Shelf. She’s concerned about our safety and elves and old fat dudes are not her cup of tea.”

Hoots, of course, is a state of mind, but it’s not a bad one. You guys should come here sometimes and just drench yourself in it. You might just like it.

The nieces are very active in their school. It’s pretty much like any middle-school in America where you have pre and newly adorned teens fumbling their way through adolescence. My nieces are no different, but they choose to be involved, are only emo when they are glaring at me and are good kids, but if you tell them that I will cut you.

Anyway, they were in this morning’s talent show at the school. I decided to go and see them do their stuff not really knowing what to expect. The lady on the mic who was emceeing the event reminded the students that there would be psychological beheadings if they misbehaved. I believe this was directed to the 8th graders as 8th graders are willing to mock anyone different at any given amount of time.

She informed the ransackled lot of us, parents, aunts and grandparents, that last year there were 10 participants in the show. This year there were nearly 30.

Now, the talent basically had some kids lip-synching, which didn’t bother me too much because I was just pleased to see kids getting out there in front of a crowd. Even Finn’s mom led a rousing edition of “Lean on Me” in honor of a teacher which had the kids on their feet. Finn would be proud of her mother. She is one, very, very, very nice lady and the kids love her.

One niece, with her merry band of 5th-grade friends, did the Cha-Cha slide.  Other kids did dance routines. One boy did a hysterical, yet oddly perfect, Napoleon Dynamite dance and was even wearing a Vote For Pedro shirt on for extra authenticity. Man, I loved that kid. I also liked the acting troupe of four girls who made fun of Twilight. Oh, and the kid that played Smoke on the Water.

That was just about damned perfect. As a child of the 70s, I grinned a big cheesypoof smile that hurt my ears. Made me happy, my friends.

Several girls sang Taylor Swift songs. Or, I should say, they sang that song where Swift is in the video where she is in the band and loves the boy across the street who is dating a cheerleader. Apparently, tweenagers love that song. My niece sang a song named Fearless also by Swift that I’d never heard before but is apparently pretty popular if one is 13, which she did a fine job of. You have to understand, in my family, we are honest although not brutal, when it comes to performances. But, Asa Corn, knocked it out of the ballpark.

I’ll be damned if she didn’t just sing the song, she performed it. And, yes, I cried. SHUT UP! I wish my mom could have been there to see her as my mom was a real, bonafide singer.  Anyway, my niece won first place and I teared up again. A lady saw me do it and  Hootsvillian concern was displayed quickly much to my chagrin.

“Honey, are you okay,” she said patting my back with very kind eyes. I wanted to tell her to quit patting my back, but she was being nice. And then she threw me the curve ball. “You miss your mom, don’t you?”

Everyone in Hoots knows everyone else. You can’t run from these things. I just nodded and tried in a very ladylike manner not to start blowing snot all over the place in an all-encompassing sob storm and gulping random bursts of air of hysteria.

I think the high turnout today of nearly two hours of kids singing, dancing and whatever that one act was is due to Glee. The kids who usually don’t necessarily stand out in a crowd decided to take the bull by the horns and have their day. And I loved every minute of it.

The creativity was wonderful. And the kids were smiling and laughing. Sort of gave me the Christmas spirit a little bit.

The niece won $15 dollars as her first place prize, wouldn’t let me take her picture and laughed because I put four visitor stickers on the back of her mom, Homer, during the performances, which cracked the 5th grade class behind me up. I even took pictures as I added new visitor stickers and a teacher’s assistant helped me find more stickers.

Middle school. You never grow out of it.

Sometimes I hear weird things that amuse me. So here is another edition of Overheard in Hoots.

1. There is a giraffe in Alamo. His name is Jerry. His tongue made my wife cry.  Umm, alrighty then.
2. I have two donkeys. I always consider myself to be the little donkey. Photographic proof here.
3. I’m tired of huge nutcrackers talking on television. They creep me out and give me nightmares. Can’t argue with that.
4. I asked my favorite veterinarian if he’d every operated on a snake. Maxey  looked at me like I had three heads because I sorta blurted it. My favorite dog, cat and cow doc said, “Yes. They eat the weirdest things.” He also told me hamsters and guinea pigs are prone to cancer. I did not know this. He’d given a pug a cesarean that morning as well. The things you can learn from a vet.
5. Now that John (Tanner) has dropped out, at least Nashville is talking about us (northwest Tennessee) for a change. Well, there is that.
6. My wife would have not of beaten me with a golf club if I had committed a “transgression”. I’m a hunter. She would have used a gun. That’s the difference between Tiger Woods and me. That made me laugh although I’m sick to death of the nonstory of Tiger Woods.
7. Do you have cattle dung between your ears? I heard this one peripherally from a couple of college kids who had gotten into a quick romance with some Natty Light.
8. I don’t want to see Avatar. I don’t want to learn a new language. Klingon almost killed me. Still from the very amusing college students drinking barrels of Natty Light.
9. My son threatened to send a picture of me to People of Wal Mart. I don’t go to Wal Mart anymore.
10. I’m surprised you don’t own a monkey. Said to me. No, I need a lot of things but a monkey ain’t one of ‘em.

A Time Of Rest

During any holiday, Hoots kind of shuts down. On Saturday, there were some pre-Christmas events but all in all, the folks I hang with had vanished from sight. I guess this is a good thing. We replenish ourselves a bit.

On Friday, I was out for a bit and noticed a restlessness not that different from my own. Mr. Joe just needed out of the house. Our friend Sweetie had bought a Black Friday computer for her birthday and was beaming over her good

The Lovely Mr. Joe

fortune.Dirk Diggler looked tired. The Businator had grown a few days of a beard that suited him well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a baseball cap in the 19 years I’ve known him but it worked for him. Another friend found out her mother had been diagnosed with cancer. The sadness in her eyes sat like an anvil, but she kept smiling.

There are some things you cannot hide.

We love our families and friends, but there comes a time when family awkwardness drives us into the streets. Or in my case, my family was gone so I just went out with Squirrel Queen and did some observing. Next year, I hope to be able to spend the holidays out of town. Either in the mountains or in a hotel room, as I would easily become Minnesota Fats and live in one permanently  if the financial gods decided to bless me. I love hotel living. I am unapologetic for this. If this can’t be done, I will make a traditional Turkey dinner and invite people that are alone for the holidays that I know to come and visit. Tis best to do things that are helpful and of value.

There was vegetable soup, thick and comforting, at the local diner the day after Thanksgiving and news of Tiger Woods on the television, although the accusations regarding his wife were not reported at that time. I think it is rather bizarre that Woods postponed his police interview. I am assuming that most people would not have that luxury. I am eager to see if the allegations are correct about his wife only for the fact that if they are not, then it’s just another case of “Blame the woman that married the rich guy” mentality that happens in this country quite a bit. If they are accurate, violence is violence despite the gender and she deserves to be dealt with in a legal, appropriate manner. The time factor though will mean that public relations people spent a busy weekend despite the outcome. The tabloids, tired of Jon and Kate and Adam Lambert, have new fodder to keep them busy.

It bores me, quite frankly, that we give so much energy to speculation and not to facts. I guess the facts will come, but yet I still am somewhat hesitant to give any thought to it.

Sharks In Hoots

I watched monster movies yesterday. A giant shark fought an enormous octopus and the movie even had Deborah Gibson in it. It was awful but I watched anyway, giggling at the bad special effects done poorly on what appeared to be a 10-year-old Mac.

Now, a question as I sit drinking coffee this morning. Should I write a book about Hoots? I’ve thought about it. What do you think, kind reader? Would people want to read about Hoots or can they do it here?

Trying to think outside the box.

I love it when my friends here in Hoots start groovy new blogs.

As I am apparently a geezer, I woke up this morning with my back bothering me. This could be due to falling over one of the pets trying to go to the bathroom last night who conveniently decided they need to walk in the same path that I did in the dark.

GeezoidComa. A life of glamor here at Chez Coma where apparently I have become 86-years-old. I just hope during my aging process that I become someone as cool as Mr. Jimmy.

I finally saw Mr. Jimmy last night who was schooling me on a list of things. I was right, the weather had gotten him a bit down so I was pleased to see him because apparently there were things that I needed reminding about.

First of all, Mr. Jimmy spoke to me about the new world of human resources.

“If you want a damn job, you take what you can and then you work up from the damned thing. Human resources, my ass, that’s just a made up word that’ll be gone in about 10 years. It’s called a JOB. It’s ain’t called no damned vacation. And those bosses need to take care of who works for them and who doesn’t. If they don’t work, then you get rid of ‘em. If they do work, you make sure you keep ‘em and you make it worth their while. Bosses just went and got lazy. Human resources? Feh!”

Mr. Jimmy may be the only person I know that says “Feh.”

Then we moved on to dogs.

“They’ve bred dogs into being ignorant and stupid. (No one can say Stupid quite like Mr. Jimmy as it just rolls for what seems like an eternity off his tongue.) Dogs need to run. They need to be outside. They need to herd or hunt. If you want a good dog, get a coon hound. Don’t get one of those little dogs that’s brains were bred out of ‘em. They liked damned pieces of bad furniture, those little yappy bastards.”

And then we headed into Masterpiece Theater.

“You ever seen Masterpiece Theater? There’s too many damned channels right now and that’s the only show worth watching. I like Morse. He’s smart. Everyone right now is watching Oprah and it’s made ‘em crazy.”

I texted my friend, The Businator, telling him that Mr. Jimmy was on an exquisite, cuss-induced rant of pure perfection. He sent me back the lyrics to the Stones song “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”

I went down to the Chelsea drugstore
To get your prescription filled
I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy
And man, did he look pretty ill
We decided that we would have a soda
My favorite flavor, cherry red
I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy
Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was “dead”

I think Mr. Jimmy would kill me if he knew I referenced this song. My Mr. Jimmy likes New Orleans jazz, but I digress.

Personally, I think that America’s Next Great Pundit should just hire Mr. Jimmy. There would be FCC fines to pay but it would be sweet.

Dang, Hoots is a blast sometimes.

We sat and chatted last night over a cold beer as chilly weather began to make its presence outside, talking of tombstones for pets that were discovered by Dirk Diggler, politics and the local college, and how we would be lost without it. The bar was too smoky even for me, and someone played some of the cheesiest music I have heard in a long time after a local woman had done good getting her Elvis Costello,  and giving me the thumbs up as she knew I loved him.

We know what we likes, if you know what I mean. Good music followed by some variation of hair metal. Ehh, our differences are what join us together in the church of the fellowship of the bar.

It was charming in its own way and so we settled in for a bit because, as always, visiting is of the good. It needs to be done every now and then, where heavier issues are set aside for a moment.

I will be headed to see this grave marker, which Dirk swears has a picture of a dog on it and that the dog has on glasses. As you know, that’s right up my alley. He said that from what he has heard, the dog was buried alongside his human. For some reason, this gives me a feeling of sadness and exhilaration this morning after.

Why? I do not know.

The place was more packed than usual, and I had a conversation with a man about how pizza in Europe is so much better than pizza here. The only place that has been able to recreate it, in my opinion, is New York City, although Pizza Perfect in Nashville is also VERY good. I think it’s because I like gouda mixed with mozzarella, and he just talked of being in far off place where the food is different and exotic. He is in the National Guard. We also talked of German beer and how it will knock you on your hiney. The thing is that it’s just better there. You can’t get that type of hopps and barley drubbing here with what is available.

Earlier in the day, Squirrel Queen and I heard about the adventures of being an engineer (and how trains are like a fussy mistress who bears a great weight), about local ghosts and ate nachos that were entirely too messy. I asked a local real estate agent where the best ghosts were and he looked at me like I’d lost his mind. I will ask my friend, Realtor Mom, to let me in on the secrets of our town. I think she won’t mind in the least because it’s sort of fun to know these things and she is very groovy about these things.

As we gathered around with a couple of my local bromances and one of my sismances (who is KK) we watched folks play darts as the evening winded down. as people laughed and good-naturedly competed with each other to be King/Queen of the Darts that particular evening. Bragging rights are always good during a recession, I assure you.

I also heard from Dirk that he saw Mr. Jimmy making his usual rounds around town and not to worry.

“He was out walking the other day,” Diggler said. “He’s fine. No worries.”

I think it is in these moments where the world is left outside that there are moments of unusual clarity that everything is going to be okay, and if it’s not, then each of us will get through it.

Random, I know.