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.