PASS THE SWEET POTATOES!!

Ah, Thanksgiving.

A time to reflect on what is really important in our American way of life.Our family and friends, the Pilgrims, the struggle of our founding fathers and birth of the greatest nation on earth-- and the Turkey, the virtually nonflying bird that was invented solely for our national holiday.

More importantly, it is about the one thing that keeps me up at night...the feast--the bounty that nature and Kroger has provided for us with which tohelp us give adequate thanks.
For weeks prior to last Thursday I had kept my eyes and ears glued to theFood Network, watching everything I could find on Thanksgiving Dinner--I had, quite frankly, pelted Wifey Poo with a million and one questions about what she was going to cook, when she was going to cook it, and for how long,etc...
She said it was very reminiscent of my phone calls to her when I was in Iraq, when I asked about what she may or may not have been wearing....
Ahem.

After recovering from my Saturday a week ago traumatization at the Grocery store, I accompanied wifey to Kroger on Tuesday for official Thanksgiving Shopping...
Oh, Beloved, this was the proverbial cakewalk, as all I had to do was push the buggy and watch the goodies become contained therein-- Of course, no visit to theKroger would be complete without the occasional groin kick and verbal admonishment("How many times do I have to tell you to stay on the right sideof the aisle?!?")--which usually comes after the cereal aisle, when the endorphins are released from my brain after having seen some of my best friends- Toucan Sam, Cap'n Crunch, and Tony the Tiger.
It is during this euphoric state that I "occasionally" invoke some attention defecit and my buggy strays into the middle of the aisle or into the path of oncoming traffic, causing her royal highness much embarassment. This is then followed by heart rendering apologies to the other customer and a high and inside blow (mostly verbal) to what feels like my groinage. I usually say"I'm sorry, excuse me", and when the victims continue on their way I say"pardon me all to hell" under my breath.
That's a quote from The Shootist, a John (Hallowed be thy name ) Wayne movie. I bet The Duke never even went inside a grocery store, much less pushed a buggy and did battle with miscreant old ladies and mothers with their snotty nosed urchins running amuck.
Barbarians.
Anyway, back to my Wifey,who, bless her heart, may have been under a smidgen of duress, inasmuch as half of her family(three of the brothers had turns with their in laws) would be coming over to dine with us. The sum of people that would invade our little piece of paradise would be somewhere around 18, but no one really knows for sure because the entire crew are moving targets--if you count a couple neighbor kids and the dogs, well it goes even higher.

But, enough of the grocery store...suffice to say that I was PUMPED andRARING TO GO to unload all those bags of groceries when I got back home, even if it was black as pitch outside, even if there were no kids around to help, and even though I may quite possibly have herniated a testicle (teste if you prefer) in the process of carrying all those plastic bags from the car.

Afterwards, as I settled in my easy chair with the ice pack, my mouth salivated at the mere thought of what Wifey would be cooking in her newly remodeled kitchen in a mere 48 hours. ( Weighing that thought just now, I wonder whether it is the food being prepared or the sight of her knocking around in the kitchen that gets me excited...)
Alas, it is both.
You perhaps thought I was going to be chauvenistic, but no, dear hearts, that is not the case. The fact that she is toiling away in theKitchen like a galley slave only speaks to the love and devotion--the attention mind you, or great tenacity and detail given to her culinary art. In short, Wifey is a good cook and I more than encourage her to stay in the kitchen and work at it.

This Thanksgiving my attention was focused on one particular item. Normally it is the Cranberries (we discovered they actually are a berry, not just the stuff in the can) or the dressing , even the Turkey itself, that makes me hunch. This years obsession was the Sweet Potato--not that I'm not already a fan, but the Food Network had this whole big deal about em (Sweet Potatoes,Yams, etc) and it got me "peeing on car tires howling at the moon excited". The butter, the brown sugar, or the marshmallows, all of which you have to eat sitting down, became my food of choice for T'giving 08.

OnThanksgiving morning I arose early and got the coffee and newspaper all ready for Wifey-and even had the Macys Thanksgiving parade on the TV so she could watch those gay folks in those broadway shows dance around in next to nothing as if it were 90 degrees outside--ANYHOW, I reasoned that a little attention on my part in the morning would potentially pay off later--yes sir, I had to keep my gal happy and healthy for the next few hours...

After ensuring that her caffeine and nicotine levels were up to par, I unlocked the drawer containing the kitchen knives-- and informed her with the one statement that would surely give her the adrenaline rush she would need for the next umpteen hours:
"If you keep me full of all this good food I'm convinced I will be so full I won't be able to even attempt to have conjugal relations.
"Before you could say "coitus interruptus" she was rifling thru cabinet doors, banging pots and pans around, and making ready the stove, microwave, fridge, clearing off counters and barking out orders to take out the garbage, unload the dishwasher, and put the dogs out. She was a woman posessed.
As is the custom at our house, I always try to work my way into the kitchen at some point to inspect and check on things.
I stepped one foot into the kitchen when the cooking had started, only to have my groinage verbally abused with the promise of physical abuse- to include dismemberment- if I were to set foot in there for any reason- Of course, wifey didn't have to go into any of those details-she just gave me that look and said "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY KITCHEN". She had a knife in her hands there was little I could do.

As I went back downstairs to my mancave I muttered "pardon me all to hell"....Anyway, It's ok to peer into the kitchen-where I saw the dressing with sausage, onion, and whatever else goes in it, and I saw those wonderful sweet potatoes--I saw the turkey being basted with all those succulent juices collecting in the bottom of the roasting pan. I also saw the pineapple casserole, the greenbean casserole, complete with those little fried onions that makes one hunch....

The fact of the matter is that she shooed me away from her kitchen at least a half dozen times. On one occasion I feigned arthritic conditions and had to take some pain reliever-the pills and the water to chase them with would be located in thekitchen! Another time was to check and see if the trash needed taking out, and still another to help with the dishwasher-she always found me out though, and would proceed to shoo me away again.
She has been shooing me away ever since I met her 20 some odd years ago, and if not for my persistence I wouldn't have gotten married to her or been able to be underfoot in her kitchen--my strategy is quite simple--you just gotta wear em down and break their will to live.
Sue says I do that better than anyone she ever met. She should know.

At any rate, first guest of du jour was father in law-the man has never been late for anything in his life-if an event begins at 1500 you can bet your hat and your ass he will be out in your driveway an hour prior.
Unfortunately, his penchant for timeliness did not get handed down to his first born daughter.
It was comforting to have him at the house, because my mother in law never let him in the kitchen either. He felt my pain and we both peered into the kitchen like two hound dogs in a butcher shop window.
An hour or so later, and the smell in the house has me rabid. I eat an apple to control myself. It helps a great deal, but not as much as the diversion created when sis in law and her crew and then brother in law and his crew come walking up on the porch- Kids all over the place--a welcome distraction while Sue kicks in the afterburner and starts kicking some culinary butt in the kitchen-honestly all I can do at this point is provide comic relief in my never ending role as court jester.

In a little while the proverbial dinner bell is rung-the chow line is formed and everyone falls in and starts helping their plates. We pause after we all get seated at the dining room table-and the other lunchroom table for an additional 6 seats--and return thanks. Even the little kids hush while the blessing is asked. That's as quiet as the house has been since 0730 when I woke up and it won't be that quiet again until well after 900 pm-when Sues family--Our family--departs. How delicious was it?
I performed most of the cleanup afterwards, if that tells you anything. One of the benefits of cleaning up is you get to dip into the pans for another"taste" if you need it--seeing as how I had promised to not ask for any other"wifely services" on this evening, It would be the safe bet to make sure thatI was not only full, but so full that I harbored no thoughts of a'more. It was a WIN WIN situation..I have a full belly and Wifey gets to sleep thru the night.

Life is good. Thanksgiving was awesome.

Behold the power of Sweet Potatoes.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

This Saturday found me with an off weekend and a grocery list handed to me by Household 6 (that's the call sign for Wifey) to go to Kroger and do the "just a few things to get us by before we do the HEAVY Thanksgiving shopping"...



When going Krogering, I rarely go by myself. Undaunted and not the least bit intimidated by this "womans work", however, I grabbed the list, put on my ball cap, grabbed the keys to the Titanic and hit the road. With as much zeal and zest as i could muster, I psyched myself to get in and get out in a hurry. Double checking to make sure the grocery buggy had 4 good round wheels and no alignment problems, I struck out thru the produce headed for my first stop, the bananas.

two bunches and a plastic bag off the roll of plastic bags thingy, i headed over to grab a loaf of bread and was on aisle two before the senior citizens could figure out which grapes to buy.



Next on the list was Tomatoes, written like this: "4 Cans Tomatoes"--I ran into the entire section of tomatoes on the next aisle. It was here i encountered my first small glitch. Big cans, small cans, or regular cans? Diced, Peeled, or Whole? Hunts, Del Monte, or Store Brand? I thought about it for a moment and out of the corner of my eye could see the senior citizens I had blown past a moment ago were now waiting on me, as was another lady with a small child. I maneuvered my buggy to give them the right of way, and called Wifey for guidance.



"Big cans, small cans, regular cans, Diced, Peeled or whole, Del Monte, Hunts or Store brand?" I asked.



"Regular, Diced, whatever is cheaper" was the reply.



I threw 4 cans into the buggy, one of which hit the bread, and I sped off while feeling the stares of the old folks and a Mother with small child. I will make it up on the next aisle, I thought to myself, because in all of grocerydom, this aisle belonged to me and to no other.



It was the CEREAL Aisle.



The cereal aisle is the greatest aisle in all the universe, known only to little kids and middle aged men. The cereal aisle is where i feel closer to God. It's like a closer walk with thee. The cereal aisle reminds me of all that is good in the world. It was here that in a matter of seconds i had scored boxes of Froot Loops, Cap'n Crunch (who Crunchitized me back before Crunchitizing was even a word), Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and Corn Pops. I bought the reverend stuff because it is, after all, the week before Thanksgiving, and life is too short for the generic brands of cereal. I was on aisle three before you could say White Grape Peach Juice, which was what was next on the list. OATMEAL, as it turned out, caused me another issue. There was store brand, Quaker oats, and both in assorted packs.

I called Wifey again.

"YOU have a coupon for Maple Brown sugar", she said, and clearly agitated. OOPS! I forgot I had brought some store coupons with me to save some money. We are, after all, in a recession. "OK, Love bug, GOT IT! BYE" and could hear her muttering something about her doing it herself as I ended the call. I had been in Kroger a million times and now all of a sudden the place had become Mt. Everest. I was fast becoming helpless and my list was as vague as if it were a blank sheet of paper.

Rounding the next aisle, I felt the beads of sweat break out on my forehead. Not only had those first two ladies caught up with me but I was now in a veritable traffic jam with buggies all around, everyone reaching for the same items--or so it seemed. Quickly I bolted for the meat section, where there was a little breathing room-I hoisted a 23 pound Turkey into the buggy, only to find it wouldn't fit, so I shoved him under the buggy. The list had Hamburger Meat (2) which meant two pounds. Ground sirloin, chuck, or lean? one 2 lb package, or two one pound packages? I started to dial the phone again but got hold of myself, picking two one pound packs of hamburger meat, still not knowing if it was lean, ground chuck, or sirloin.

Doubling back to use the coupon for sugar, both white and brown, brought yet another dilemma. Brown sugar comes in two shades, light and dark. I know enough that a recipe will be specific enough to ask for a particular shade, and one need not stray from shade to shade. It may mean the difference between oooh and ahhh. So, quite naturally, since this was of utmost importance, I had to call Wifey once more.
"Light or Dark?", was all I asked. Then, a long silence. "Light", she said and before she could utter another sound I yelled into the phone "I GOT IT- SEE YOU IN A BIT!" and hit the red button on my phone. Another Aisle, and paper plates, paper towels, napkins, and the one necessity we cant live without, toilet paper, or as I like to call them, hockey tickets. No significant issues to report here.

About this time I ran into Friend and fellow soldier Captain Mike Lipper. We have seen each other naked in the shower on many mornings in Iraq, and I bought my mid life crisis car from him. He is family. He saw me and held up his list that his wife had given him, and I held my list up that my wife had given me. The pained look in both our faces could only be appreciated and understood by those of us who have seen each other naked in Iraq.

On final approach, I hit the dog food aisle for puppy pads and dog treats. The Puppy pads are for the dogs to wet on when they don't get the chance to go outside. The reward for hitting the pad is a dog treat. Neither works like it was designed, and until they make puppy pads in the 2500 square feet versions, its like threading a needle trying to get my canines to go anywhere other than hiking their legs on the fake ficus trees inside the house. Don't get me started.

The last stop at the 10 items for 10 dollars discount bin, I was able to get some AA Batteries, some Almond Joy candy bars, some air freshener (See the note about the non-housebroken dogs) and some Shave cream, all one dollar a piece if you get ten items. Woo-Hoo!!

Making my way to an available checkout lane, I was able to see what pandemonium exists in this place on a Saturday morning--Why anyone in their right mind would want to go grocery shopping on a Saturday is beyond me. Unloading the buggy onto the checkout counter proved that I had sufficiently ruined the loaf of bread and placed the hamburger meat where the juices would run out onto the other food. My environmental hazard caused my cashier to ask the next attendant for some wipes so that the "spill" could be contained. somehowI managed to get the stuff all over my jacket and it looked like I had taken a bullet into the chest. There was no way this grocery store visit was going to be anything but grueling work. What joy I had brought into the store disappeared shortly after reaching for the Cap'n Crunch.

Out the door and now pulling a super stacked buggy of vittles, I managed to get out the door and into the path of an oncoming car when the paper towels managed to leave my buggy and hit the pavement. Pulling the buggy and toting an armload of paper towels, I had to sit it down again when I got to the car, now having to fish around in my two front pockets and jacket pockets for the one key. Lifting the tailgate I start by taking all the CRAP that is presently in the cargo hold and throwing it back over into the back seat. Slamming my shin into the trailer hitch and ball almost proved to be my undoing, and the only thing that kept me from cussing a blue streak was the intense pain that my shin was in. A lesser man would have succumbed to his wounds and died on the scene.

After 5 trips back and forth to get the groceries to the kitchen, and another thirty minutes of putting everything away, Iwas mentally and physically exhausted, not to mention having my shin hurt.

I had to have a nap.

This "Womans work" is like a kick in the shins. I will let a diesel mechanic give me a colonoscopy before I go back into the grocery store again without my wife.

I ain't man enough.

VETERANS DAY

I don't think of MYSELF as a Veteran. Technically I am, but the real Veterans are the ones who came before me. The famous ones i have read and studied my entire life. The not so famous ones, ones who did a hitch and got out to live otherwise normal lives, I remember fondly as well.

Uncle Terry, the Battle of Midway survivor, SGM Sapp and Major Carter, my ROTC instructors, my father in law, the Marine from the Korean conflict, Mike Pantera from the Vietnam era, my WW II Navy neighbor Mr. Cortez, and even my Dad, who spent two years as a mobilized Guardsman during the Korean conflict, making it as far as an operation in Canada.

I have rarely met anyone who ever served in any capacity in the Armed Forces that didn't have some story to tell and that wasn't proud of their service.

I am proud of them, too. Our country is the way it is because of them.

Electile Dysfunction

Its over.
My man (and Woman) didn't win. Curses. Oh well. Roosevelt died and MacArthur got fired, and the world kept turning. I have had enough politics for a while. UNCLE!

We have lived through Democrat administrations before, and America will survive regardless of whichever party tries to run it in the ground. These days, there's plenty of blame and middle fingers to go around. Lets keep em all pointed in the direction of Washington, DC, though. I hope whatever happens they are ALL inspired enough to get off their collective asses and get with it.

More importantly, Whats the media going to do? My God, no mud to sling? We might have to go back and watch Britney Spears.

As for me, Baseball season is over. This is the time of year to pick up a good book or three and read. The only thing in the world, really, that matters (besides that) is Soldiers, and possibly the next time I might get some fried chicken.

P.S. Governor Palin, I am going to miss you.

46 and Counting

Good Lord, I am now 46.

Exactly. Had i known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself. Having the week I had just had, I had been feeling every bit of 56, and just getting home and going to bed would have been the ticket.

Flying in from Florida on my business trip on Friday, I was already thirty minutes late as Wifey was delivering Joe to me so we could attend, of all things, a Rock Concert.

Thats right. I took my 16 year old to The Allman Brothers Concert in Atlanta for my 46th Birthday.

We made it to Chastain Amphitheater with time to spare, even with Atlanta Holiday weekend traffic. We got settled in about 30 minutes before the Allman Brothers came out. A guy behind us informed us that at about 7:45 the international space station would be overhead and we should be able to see it. He was the kind of guy who, if he told you that the international space station was flying over in ten minutes, then you believed it. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, something flew over--not even a minute later and without introduction the Allman Brothers, now somewhat fronted by Joes favorite guitar virtuoso, Derek Trucks, took the stage and for the next 3 and a half hours on a crisp cool clear Fall evening in the greatest state in the World, the former Macon based blues rockers had their way with us. I dont know if I ever heard them sound as good. I was hanging with my best buddy and we were at a concert listening and grooving to the same tunes--I didn't care how damn old I was..

We both got really cool T shirts (just like back in the day) and stopped downtown at the Varsity for a quick snack before we took it back to Maconga--Joe fell asleep on the way home. I was still jamming---and it was almost 1 am when I pulled in the driveway--not too bad for an old man.

GO GO RED SOX!

Well, most of the teams I had wanted to get to the Post season go there, but their fires immediately got snuffed out. save for those wonderful Red Sox, whose Bambino curse not only has been exorcised, but hopefully has been thrown back onto the backs of the New York Yankees, who have hammering away at the foundation of the House that Ruth built as we speak to build a new venue. (i dont even want to discuss it). But my guess is the Curse of the Bambino is alive and well now-just not in Boston.

Regardless, I stayed up way past my bedtime while out of town last week and watched the Red Sox and LA Angels duke it out at Fenway for the division series--what a game--went down to bottom of ninth two outs with all the collective fingernails of Red Sox nation being chewed to the quick when rookie Jed Lowrie smacks a line drive thru the gap to right field--and the winning run scored from second. This was the kind of baseball game that makes you lose years off your life. I wanted to hoop and hollar and jump all about the place but i was in the room by myself, my buddy Jay in the next room already asleep, and all I could do was just watch the celebration on the television...

Two seconds later, my son, AKA mans best friend texted me the message "red sox win red sox win! -- it was past his bedtime too obviously but he is a bigger fan than I am---I called him up and we talked for ten minutes reliving the highlights. He had been at home watching the entire time too.


Baseball is awesome-especially when I get to watch it with Joe.

Speaking of Food....

My recent trip to St. Augustine, and some stomach issues, caused me enough frustration to write my wife a note--

Dearest Wife:
I will have you know dear lady, that I just committed mortal and unforgiveable sin--In fact, I am driving in the HOV lane to hell as I type-- I just went into a Barbecue joint and ordered a salad--

Thats right.

A "gay, un-masculine I gotta leave the toilet seat down to pee" salad.....

Let me paint you a picture of the humiliation I feel. Our waitress Mary looked at me as if I were gay when I ordered my salad. I placed my order with my head held low, almost in tears.

Actually, the entire barbecue joint turned deathly silent when I ordered the salad. Other patrons began to whisper and point at me as I were the exhibit at Ripleys Believe it or not--Alvin and Jay--completely unaware of what i was going to order, damn near fainted, and as soon as the immediate shock wore off there bar stools created sparks as they scraped across the floor --just like in the old cowboy movies when the bad guy came in the bar.

Has this what my life has come to? Used to be, back in the day, a little irregularity would be compensated by a day of binge drinking without eating any food. Now, my lower GI, in complete rebellion against me, has dictated to me--amidst the unwelcome chiming in of you, Mrs Fisher, Miss Smart Ass, that I need to eat right. By my math, eating right is not only going to make me gay but also have salad breath.

At this moment I have but one option. I have taken out my "man card" and surrendered it to proper authority.

Generations of my Ancestors dating back to the American Revolution are rolling over in their graves because of my sin at the barbecue joint.

I am a desperate man.

I need to reach down where my gonads are supposed to be and go eat my weight in pulled pork-thereby throwing caution and my lower half mile of entrails to the wind--both my consious and my lord know this. But for now, in a sincere effort to do right, I am being a gay salad boy and It is kicking my ass.

Patiently awaiting any words of encouragment for my plight, I remain, steadfast and most

Sincerely,

Your Husband

PS-please leave the toilet seat down.

HER REPLY.....

My loving Husband,

Farbeit for me to encourage you to lead a more healthy (not gay) lifestyle so we can live out our golden years together.

With that said, if sucking liquified barbecue through a straw or having a Fried chicken enema because of the paralysis caused by the massive stroke you WILL have (not to mention the colostomy bag that will be tied to your wheelchair because your colon has completely shut down AND because they had to cut off your gout infested feet) is your idea of "heterosexual", then sign me up for the "Lesbians for a Longer Life" club.

For better or worse does not mean that I will have to carry around a spit rag in my purse to wipe the drool off your chin while wheeling your lethargic rear end into the nursing home dining room to have them put your feeding tube full of green jello.

Yes, I did say nursing home.

Because I WILL take every last dime of YOUR money to make sure you are taken care of by SOMEONE ELSE while I walk around with my oxygen tank sucking down Vodka Tonics and turning on healthy, old, rich men .

Your Dearest Wife

PSS The toilet seat is always down since you are now prone to urinating your pants.

BTW i have a coupon for Depends.

It is her World---I merely live in it.

FOOD REVIEW-OUTBACK CRAB SHACK, ST AUGUSTINE

My adventures in government travel continued last week with a trip to St. Augustine, Florida for a training course--as one might expect, you cannot work the entire time and a body has to eat...

This food/restaurant review was dictated to me by Jay McNair, Esquire, who likes to eat as much as i do..he was also my traveling companion last year when we went to the frozen tundra of New Hampshire....Jays' voice is similar to any that you would expect to find announcing the color commentary on any Fall Friday night of a Georgia High School Football game.

"We are at the Outback Crab Shack at along 6 Mile Creek--est 1973. We drove a route (elbow to a-hole) to get here---it is situated along the rivers edge and filled with "locals"--some of which chose not to bathe (I believe)-or they just got through fishing--I can't tell.... There are three taxidermed alligators in the front of the place, the smallest of which is about ten feet long, sitting up on its tail and fashioned into what looks like a bookshelf of sorts--The tea is sweet and comes in a take home cup-a bonus..they have a website (outbackcrabshack.com) and I am certain to look it up before my head hits the pillow tonight....The place is huge and the tables are ALL picnic tables--the floors are concrete in one area, wood in yet another, with big spaces between the floorboard big enough to fall through--and of course go "right straight to hell" like the Jimmy Buffett says--the menu contains a varied assortment of sea bounty--fried, grilled, blackened, and it does traditional barbecue as well. The waitresses--all young'uns, but all equipped with the three "T"s-tank tops, ta-tas, and tattoos--(Jay points out emphatically that) a good set of knockers offsets a not so great face..."

The gift shop boasts all kinds of t shirts-to include the tank tops the waitresses are wearing, and in the fashionable camouflage design-- both Mossy Oak and Real Tree.

Not impressed yet?

Well, for all you sinners out there (Cardinal, Mortal, and other) there is regular Sunday service by the Providence Bible Church on Sunday morning at 0830 where their motto (I swear this is on the napkin holder) "NO SHIRT NO SHOES NO PROBLEM"...

Out front is a revival type sign proclaiming "HOLY MOSES" with none other than Charles Heston, the original Moses-- holding up the Ten Commandments...Glory!!!

The meal? Jay had blackened salmon with sweet potato french fries and red potatoes--I opted for the grilled mahi-mahi with cole slaw and broccoli--inasmuch as my colon has been rejecting my body for the last couple weeks I gotta play it safe. The only flaw we saw was no cheese grits..but neither of us had the guts to ask anyone about it for fear of getting our butts kicked by either the employees or the patrons.

The verdict? as my ex Rachel Ray says--"DEELISH!". When I like something I say it makes me hunch. I asked Jay did it make him hunch and he said no but he was considering coming back for church on Sunday.

Amen.

Rachel Ray Dog food--Really, Let me go.

It is no surprise that I "dumped" Rachel Ray for Sarah Palin--I was upfront and honest about the entire thing, and my wife Sue can attest to that.

Well, Rachel is obviously having a hard time "letting go"--in the mail today i received from her via Kroger a sample of her new dog food--I suspect that, even though theres no direct reference to me, that she is doing this as a way to get even with me for breaking her heart.

Rachel-Baby, Honey, Sugar, love bug, Dumpling, Angel.....Let it go. It is better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all. We still have 30 Minute meals...And I still have your cookbooks.

Time heals.

This is POOT!

Dear Christopher Riley Fisher, aka "POOT".

I didn't give you that name, your Momma did. In fact, she called me from the hospital the day she brought you home and said "Daddy I decided to call him "Poot" because that's all he does."

I told her she should be careful because a name like that could stick. Well, you turn one year old in a couple days, and the name has stuck. She has tried calling you a variety of other names, and when shes around other folks she will call you Chris, or Christopher. Sometimes when you are digging in the dogs food or water bowl she will call you Christopher Riley Fisher--she does that to impress your Grandma and I that she can show "Tuff Love" when she needs to. Truth is she is a cream puff when it comes to her Pootie. She adores you and you adore her back. She is a good mom, too (Grandma said so). You two are quite a pair. But you're the POOT. I apologize for any trouble this will cause you in later years.

Its hard to believe you have been with us a year already. You have been a good boy and you keep us all entertained. You also make us complete. Aunt Lyndsay thinks you're tops--Uncle Joe will never admit to it but he thinks you're a rascal. It just may be--that you are a Grandmas boy...That's a good thing, because I was a Grandmas boy too. I hope you love your grandma half as much as I loved mine.

And now, a year later, and you are crawling all over the place, playing with the dogs, getting into everything, and even beginning to talk real words.

Hold on, Poot. It gets better. Remember a few things along the way, though.

1) Red White and Blue, Forever. These colors don't run.

2) Baseball Rules!

3) The Army gets it done. All other branches of service are merely "Helpers".

4) The remote control is your birthright.

5) Never eat "healthy" cereal.

6) If you ever need anything, all you have to do is call "POPs"--that's me.

We wouldn't take a million bucks for you. Thanks for being here.

Happy Birthday, Poot!

Love, Pops

Half Naked Cheerleader (Mans Best Friend?)

Joe Fisher, forever known as Mans best Friend, is now 16 years old and his favorite pastimes besides baseball and electric guitars is wrestling his middle aged father to the ground until he says Uncle---or threatens to ground him.

A Full fledged High schooler at newly formed Howard High, he was recently coerced into membership as a half naked cheerleader at the homecoming football game. (the skinny "S" third from left)

His mother and me have done some studying on this, and figured out why he and the rest of his cohorts all were so quick to become HNCs (half naked cheerleaders)..It is because young ladies perform the ritual of painting on the letters. When we dropped him off at the stadium with his buddies, you could smell the paint as it was being applied to bare chests of teenaged boys. On second thought, maybe the smell was testosterone. Ah, youth.

Coldest State- Hottest Governor

I admit to you openly and without shame that I think Sarah Palin is the hotness. I tried to listen to her speech on the issues at hand, but I am distracted by her good looks, quite frankly. When she was officially was announced during the McCain Veepstakes, I immediately sent word to my real best girl wifey Sue that, "From this moment on, I am officially kicking Rachael Ray to the curb.."

She hunts, fishes, and has a houseful of kids. She would fit right in here in Georgia. We could do a damn site worse in Washington. Maybe what we need is a womans touch.

I am smitten.

3 minute Rule

Subject: Ravioli---

The floor in the break room is clean.
It had some dust and grit on it a little bit ago. I know this because I had ravioli for lunch.
My ravioli was good except it had some grit in it.
It had grit in it because it came in contact with the floor.
Having retrieved it from the microwave, my paper plates' internal structure became compromised and in the ensuing 500ths of a second gravity took over. Approximately eight of my one inch by one inch beef filled raviolis became one with the pergo.
I am instantly reminded of the Hindenberg crash. OH THE HUMANITY!
I am a trained professional, however...I remained undaunted. I was undaunted for about 15 seconds while i wove my tapestry of profanity.....
Thank goodness for red kool aid. It helps with the grit.
By the way, the refrigerator door is clean too.
I'm gonna go brush my teeth.

You Can Tunica a Piano, but you cant Tunica a Fish

Ah, Travel. Temporary duty, or TDY as we government employees call it.

For me, it’s a chance to put another pushpin onto the world map of places I have seen and hope to see.

This time, a week is to be spent in Tunica, Mississippi, a place I have never heard of. I mean, I had heard of Mississippi, and been there countless times, just not Tunica--I guess the same goes for a Mississippian who has been to Georgia but never been to Hahira or perhaps Cairo.


In the Mississippi River delta region of Mississippi (I hope to hell that isn't redundant), just south of Memphis, lies Tunica- Tunica sounds like something you wear on your head when it gets cold. "Little George, its cold outside make sure you got your tunica on and keep that damn thing fastened!"

At one time the poorest county of Mississippi, Tunica is now a destination for folks who like to gamble. As one leaves the Memphis Airport and heads south on Route 61, things become really rural really fast. Then, all of a sudden, where one would expect to find a roadside vegetable stand with boiled peanuts, or perhaps at the very most a Stuckeys selling Pecan logs, these casinos arise smack dab out of the middle of the corn, cotton, and soybean fields. It doesn’t look natural. That’s because it ain't.

It is, quite simply, a good drive spoiled.

These casinos are surrounded by water irrigated in via the Mississippi river which is a good two miles west as the crow flies--I think theres some law about having them be in, near or on the water---

One thing I did enjoy was that the place where we stayed (Harrahs) there is a Paula Deen restaurant. Some folks are addicted to booze or drugs, some folks to gambling. My addiction to Fried Chicken is legendary and I had already mentioned to my traveling and TDY buddy Charlie "Dude" Discher that I needed Fried Chicken soon lest I go into the DTs and end up being taken away to a nuthouse someplace where I would end up begging nurse Ratchett for cigarettes.

We got checked into our rooms and with quick dispatch made it to Paula Deens buffett--I know what you're thinking--to have to go pay and eat for the food we grew up eating is indeed a sin, but one must get a "fix" whenever one can--We had not ventured out far enough to find the Krystal and Waffle House.

So, we paid the 10.99 and stood in line with the rest of the tourists to eat Paula Deens buffet.

The restaurant is divvied up into 5 sections-Smoked Meats, Seafood, Comfort Food, one I just forgot and then the desserts . Charlie Dude, who is a master in the art of dining out, had planned a strategy to where he would hit all the different sections. Myself, on the other hand, made a beeline for the comfort food section and got in line with an enormous crowd of fat ladies to get my plateful of fried chicken. I still contend that when I am having a craving I would walk right past fillet mignon and possibly a naked woman to get ahold of Fried Chicken.

My first pass at the fried chicken netted me only a back and a half of breast. They were still cooking another batch of chicken so I finished the first run with some collards and rice and gravy and butterbeans. Charlie Dude came back with what appeared to be some samples from the salad bar. Lightweight, I thought to myself.

Fast Forward 15 minutes.


I have made my two passes, had about 4 pieces of chicken, some black eyed peas and some corn. I saw the final coffin nail disguised as a piece of caramel cake at the dessert station and as I sat at the table about to cuss the day I was born, I see Charlie Dude---still eating-he had hit every section-- and now was headed towards the dessert. I just sat there in awe-there was no way I could keep up, for I would have exploded or really done some kind of irreplaceable damage to my insides. I did consider going outside and purging myself in the moat that surrounded this behemoth of a casino.

For the record, the Fried Chicken tasted just like my Moms.

Afterwards, we stumbled back out into the casino, where wouldn’t you know it they had Paula Deen penny slot machines. I lost a dollar in about one minute. Charlie Dude watched me while working his toothpick, his eyes still aglaze from his 5 station blitzkrieg.

Undaunted, I figured that I would raise the stakes, so I reached for a sawbuck and promptly lost it in the quarter slots. Evidently the big meal I had was having an adverse effect on my ju ju--my gambling mojo, if you will. I had won 27 dollars on the slot machines back in 1981 in Vegas, so I knew a little about how this thing works out.

Three minutes later, I have been thoroughly "entertained" by the 25 cent slots.

The roulette table, I figured, would be a way to recoup some of my dollars. I reached in my wallet for an Andrew Jackson. I cashed in for some chips. The minimum bet was 5 dollars. I got a quick brush up on the game by the lady working the machine. I had a 50/50 chance betting on red or black, odd or even. Simple Math. I put 5 bucks down on Black. I won. I put ten dollars on Black and Odd. I lost. I reversed the next bet by going Red and even. I won. Then ditto, I lost. I maintained these shenanigans for about 5 minutes then walked away. Andrew Jackson stayed there too.

I was done with Paula Deen and with gambling in Tunica, and it was still the first day.

Next on my list of things to do was people watch. I had made the statement to Charlie Dude on the way to the restaurant that "If we don’t see old folks in wheelchairs sucking on oxygen tanks and smoking all at the same time I will kiss your ass on the square in Tunica (if they have one) and give you three days to draw a crowd!"

Before I got to the Fried Chicken we had seen all that to include a one legged woman.

It is, as COL Steve Joyce puts it, "Simply amazing". Simply amazing, as I found out last week, is the professional careerists speak of saying how something is really "EFFED UP"---Normally when I see something that is, well, EFFED up, I say it just that way--"Hey, this thing is as 'Effed up as a soup sammich! WTF?" I think we all know what "EFFED" refers to--certainly anyone that has been in my presence for more than two minutes has a good idea...

It is simply amazing to watch the deer in the headlights stares as these folks sink dollar after almighty dollar into the slot machines, the black jack and poker tables, and the roulette wheel. I normally go thru my money at a high rate of speed, when times call for social activity-- A perfect example would be two nights later when we went to Memphis and Beale Street, where the Blues, Big Ass beers, and Barbecue are all well worth whatever price they are asking for. But when I lose one dollar in the slot machines I feel like I would be better off taking a matchstick to my money and burning it, or maybe even wiping my ass with it.


Oh, yeah--Beale Street. What a wonderful place. Charlie Dude, Colonel Joyce and myself all went for an early supper barbecue, blues and beer. Just so happens that Wednesday evenings on Beale is motorcycle night, where they let anyone on a two wheeler come inside the barriers and park on Beale Street proper. Of course, some of the Motorcycle folks are quite the eyeful, while others are simply amazing. Is all good while youre wiping the barbecue sauce off your mouth. Since Charlie Dude was the driver of our rental car he anointed himself designated driver-we assured him that as a return favor we would purchase him his first round and all the breath mints he wanted or needed prior to the drive back to Tunica.

So there you have it. You can tunica piano but you cant tunica a fish. If you should find yourself in this part of the world you will find it like I did- Simply Amazing.