May
21

It’s the End of Kindergarten as We Know It, and I Feel Fine (for the most part)

Quote of the Day:

“To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time.”     –Leonard Bernstein

That’s great, it starts with a wake up,

go to school, calendar time, Li’l Scamp is not afraid.

I of the lower case, listen up so you can learn,

World is a bigger place, don’t forget it’s time to read.

Uh oh gotta grow, Chapel time, group of friends,

It’ll do, save your sweater, serve your lunch,

Playground-Stretch and Grow-Field Trip to the Zoo

Claude Monet-Africa-a Little bit of Basic Math

It’s the End of Kindergarten as we Know it

It’s the End of Kindergarten as we Know it

It’s the End of Kindergarten as we Know it.

And I…Feel…Fine…

Yeah…I know, needs work. It’s a good idea, but unfinished, sorta like the Li’l Scamp and TB too if you wanna get technical.

I kissed Scamp goodbye this morning for the last time as a kindergartener, a preschooler even. When she comes back to me later today it will be as a fully approved bona fide first grader.

If you’ve been around the MTGU for awhile, you know old TB tilts toward the sentimental. These milestones….I try to deemphasize them and focus more on the joy of the moment, the promise of what’s next, but I cannot help but take time to wallow a bit in the past when times have been so good. Leading up to this day my mind has been tangled in a timeline defying mishmash of memories–Scamp’s first day of school, birthday parties, diaper days, trips, all those toddler tv shows, training wheels, swimming pools, reading her first books sent home from school, all the way back to her first day in the so-called mainstream universe. It is luxurious to look back but too much of that sparks melancholy so I now must abruptly turn my attention to Scamp’s immediate future.

One of summer camp and Vacation Bible School. Advancing to her next karate belt in June. Hiking to Delicate Arch and seeing Mumford and Sons a couple of weeks after that in the Great American West. Getting those training wheels off. Knocking out 50 books before August and the start of the equally momentous first grade year.

But wait! If I get too far ahead the flint of future-induced melancholy will strike! So let’s just focus on tomorrow. A glorious day in which the grating screech of the alarm clock will not sound, the first of many. Ahhhhhhhhhh, summer……..

Yeah, I feel fine.

 

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/its-the-end-of-kindergarten-as-we-know-it-and-i-feel-fine-for-the-most-part/

May
16

Just a quick jaunt down memory lane

When I was a kid, we were pretty poor. We lived in a very modest little house on Edgewood Avenue in Pascagoula. Probably a 900sq/ft house. Or about the same size as my current garage and bonus room. I have a lot of fond memories at that house. Dad had his mirrors on his bedroom ceiling. Dad was a playa from way back.  I found an elephant mask in his room one time and put it on. Started parading around the house with it on my head. Only problem was that it was a Spencer’s pair of mens underwear. The “trunk” on the “mask” was where the uh…well…baby maker went. They got a good laugh out of that and I can honestly say that I am glad camera phones didn’t exist. Hell, cell phones didn’t exist. Strange to think about that now but I digress.

We would turn on the gas stove burners in the wintertime and huddle around it for warmth. My dad once put ketchup on a slice of bread and cooked it in the oven. Called it pizza. Dad was a bit of a jokester too. Anyway, we were poor so Pops did all of the work around the house himself including painting. Well, he was a good painter and made his living doing it for awhile but he still managed to paint the window to my bedroom permanently closed. We had tried on numerous occasions to open it to no avail. Well, piddling around in my room one day, I managed to get the window open. Being a particularly twisted little 8 year old, I started turning my wheels figuring out a way to put this unique knowledge to my gain. I hatched a plan.

Eating dinner one night I told my parents that I bet that I could pull a Houdini and escape my room if they locked me in. There was probably a monetary amount put on this wager but I don’t specifically remember. My father took the wager and put slide locks on the outside of my bedroom doors (Dad wasn’t one to half ass things) the next day. Bet he had fun explaining that one when he sold the house. So that night it came time to do my magic trick. I imagine I was smiling ear to ear as he closed the door safe in my knowledge that my escape window was sitting right there waiting for me. Well, as you can probably guess, I discovered a little surprise when I went to open the window. Dad had, of course, discovered my little secret and NAILED the window shut. We were not above physical destruction of an abode when there was a wager on the line.

Now, I think I was born with a pretty healthy allergy to losing so I had to figure out a way to win this bet. I didn’t have many options so I hid in the closet. After MANY minutes passed, my dad unlocked the door and came in. I could hear him looking everywhere for me and my pulse must have been doing about 160 when he opened the closet door. I froze like he was a maniac killer on the loose in the house. Somehow, he didn’t see me!!! He fumbled around a couple of minutes back in the room and went back in the kitchen. I ran quickly out of the room and declared my victory!!! I honestly don’t remember if anyone paid but I believe there was some heated debate on whether or not I won the bet based on the original agreement.

Good times.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/just-a-quick-jaunt-down-memory-lane/

May
14

With ARB’s Like These…..

Quote of the Day:

“Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another, “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”     “CS Lewis

Sometimes TB takes stock. Actually, I do that pretty much constantly. It’s totally annoying. Nevertheless….

Today I thought about the cretins that make up the group I call collectively my asshole runnin’ buddies or ARB’s for short, which, having to type the meaning of the abbreviation is kind of self defeating. Humph. So I wonder to myself, “TB”, I call myself TB in such moments. “TB,” I say– silently that is–so technically I guess I don’t “say” it. “TB,” I say, metaphysically, “how, in the hell, did you get stuck with such Philistines for friends?”

Normally  the punch line to an old “Peanuts” cartoon then comes to mind where Charlie Brown lies in bed wondering “Why me?” A voice comes back to Chuck saying “nothing personal. Your name just came up.” And then of course, Charlie Brown stares blankly at you through the pane.

Well today I got an email from one particular ARB melodramatically titled “Our Federal Government is Crumbling!”

It only took three replies from the cohort to arrive at, under the same original heading, “If any of you were able to procure the boobs, would you use them in unmentionable ways, and if so, would there be anything wrong with that?”

So, yeah ok, that’s why.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/with-arbs-like-these/

May
12

Nails

Once, while out shopping, I bought an arranged box of nails. These nails varied in lengths, but were all small, almost petite like in width. Half painted white and the other half painted brown. Every length of nail had its own little cubicle in the box and was sorted accordingly by color. At the time that I had bought the nails I had thought that they would be perfect for hanging pictures and other household decoration. I brought them home pretty pleased with myself.

While unpacking my day of shopping, Ant spotted my box of nails and was immediately dismayed by the purchase. Scoffing, he noted that I could have bought a huge bag of nails from the hardware store at a fraction of the cost. Although I could have done without the belittling scoff, he had a point and that’s that. Except, it’s not. Cut to a week later when eating dinner, Ant brings up the nails again to laugh over the ridiculousness of it all. “I’m saying, you could have bought 3 times the amount of nails…for less!” Whenever the opportunity arises (and it does far more often than I would like to admit), Ant likes to give me a good, drawn out, ribbing over my stupidity. I just don’t understand why he can’t make a notation, maybe with a little less criticism, and let it go.

When people do things that I am not exactly thrilled by or into, I don’t harbor a week’s worth of insults. What happened to passive aggressiveness and slight under jabs? Why can’t he just say something along the lines of “No, that’s not my thing” instead of ridiculing me for it being mine? That’s what I would do.

For instance, if a mob of lesbians were to approach me about an ongoing orgy:

MoL: “We got loads of muff pudding, if you’re interested.”

Me: “Sorry girls, I like big meat sticks.”

You see, it’s apologetic, to the point and without ridicule. I’m telling you, it can be done.

But, it’s not even the ridicule that really gets under my skin. It’s the several months later that whatever the source of ridicule began with becomes an object of desire. In this instance I’ll stick with the nails: “Hey, can you grab me that box of nails? I want to fix the door jam.” I know what you are thinking, who cares he is going to fix the door and the door needs fixing. In fact, I too note this myself. But, what I hear is:

“Hey, remember that box of nails that I ridiculed you about for an unbelievably long time and even used as a weapon of humiliation in front of my dad where we both got a good laugh at your expense, you know that box of nails that is SO dumb and ridiculous that I could never ever see myself even conceiving the notion of needing them, much less touching them? Can ya grab me a few?”

I can’t help but immediately go to scowl mode. My eyes set to a determined amount of rage as I grab the nails and want to chuck them at his big dumb head. But, I don’t, because he would respond with a big dumb “what’s the matter with you?” Which, I’m not sure if you realize, would release the unholiest of the unholy(s). Sometimes, I am dumb enough to saying something along the lines that is reminiscent of his past scolding, to which he ALWAYS responds with either “I never said that” or “so”. The so option is incredibly hard to argue with, I wish he took this approach more often. But, he really likes denying things. So much so, that I just don’t have it in me to call him out on stupid crap like that anymore. But, I digress.

Because, really people, all of this can be easily avoided with one small snide remark instead of a week’s worth.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/nails/

May
08

An Untitled True Story I Made Up

Quote of the Day:

Make the best of the situation, before I finally go insane.”     –Eric Clapton, Layla

Hiram Springs was at the close of a successful run. He’d been a high school football star back in 1967, the last year before integration. He went on to Ole Miss where he won some rings and endured the transition from the Johnny Vaught era to modern SEC football. The Sugar Bowl ring he got for holding Archie’s helmet when the defense was on the field never came off his finger. For three years he dated a hometown girl, Betty. She was the prettiest coed in the third best sorority on campus but she wanted a career. So they split and he took up with Cindy, a really sweet girl. Her daddy was in the insurance business back home. The old man wanted a protege. She wanted babies.

They had two. Cindy devoted her life to them. Hiram admired her beyond anyone else in the world.

Betty moved back home after getting her Master’s and became a legal secretary in a small firm. Actually, in those years they just called her the secretary. She ran the place, married one of the young lawyers and then divorced him in 1978. He had to leave the firm and the county. The ladies of Marsh County would’ve preferred that Betty left. They shut her out of their domains–the Garden Club, Bridge Club and the Methodist Church. The men were in charge of the Country Club, though and all white people were welcome there, including Betty. So she learned to golf.

Hiram sold that insurance and went to Lion’s Club and became a deacon.

Betty and Hiram stayed appropriately, distantly friendly until 1980. That’s when the PTA leaders went on a retreat to Memphis to learn about selling candy bars to raise money for Marsh Academy and the kids went for the weekend out in the country to Grandma’s. Hiram played golf that afternoon and then lingered in the bar since there was no supper waiting at home. Betty was there, of course, and they talked about old times. At 30, Betty had become one of the prettiest girls of all the sororities from back in their day. Some girls are like that.

They stayed together all night. It was the first time. They would do it again in 1982, 1985 and on July the 4th, 1990 and that was it.

Hiram lay in bed thinking he really ought to get up. He never slept this late and it made him anxious. But he was thinking about those four nights with Betty and he didn’t want to break up the moment. After 1980 Betty became a “family friend” though of course she and Cindy rarely spoke. Hiram danced with her at Country Club events and wedding receptions. When Cindy didn’t want to go to ballgames back in Oxford, Betty went in her place. Hiram and Betty golfed every Wednesday afternoon for thirty years. They had lunch on Tuesdays before Hiram’s board meetings at the bank. They were together, openly, all the time, often with Cindy along too.

It was a small town with a small percentage of white folks and they all stuck together. That’s not to say everyone liked everyone else, but they kept a united front against the growing power of the blacks. Even when they lost the Mayor’s office and the Judgeship, the old guard managed to hold on to most of the local money, even as the total pool of money available steadily shrunk. So nobody ever talked about Hiram and Betty and Cindy out of doors. They didn’t even really raise an eyebrow when they saw them around town, though that part was difficult for the first decade or so.

What’s funny, Hiram thought, is that nobody ever suggested he and Cindy divorce, including Betty. Though he considered it periodically through the years, he always rejected the idea because he just couldn’t embarrass such a good woman and ruin her social status in a dying town she was stuck in for life. Plus it would’ve cost him a fortune. Probably lose his kids too.

Four times, Hiram sighed. Might as well have done it a bunch more than that. Everyone assumed it so and looking back, it wouldn’t have changed much in how everything turned out. Then again, four times might be more forgivable than four hundred. He hoped. He squeezed Cindy’s hand. She was better than he’d deserved.

Cindy and the kids left and a few minutes later Lydia, an African American nurse who played dumb for the sake of Mr. Hiram, who she’d always respected as a fair man, led Betty in. Betty took his same hand in hers except the warmth already had drained away, and said a quick goodbye. She slipped off the Sugar Bowl ring and asked Lydia to be sure and get it back to Cindy, who must’ve been too distraught to think of it.

—————-

The person who told me the true version of this story I’ve imagined will recognize what I borrowed. That true story, as far as I know is just this: a man in a small town in Mississippi recently died. A few months before that, I met him at a party and watched him dance the night away with his longtime mistress while his wife sat and watched. Apparently this sort of thing had been going on for many years as their friends and neighbors studiously looked the other way and spoke of other things. There was an arrangement. Who knows what it was, other than crazy and sad.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/an-untitled-true-story-i-made-up/

May
06

I haven’t went Epic in awhile so let’s talk about Illegal Immigration

I have been purposefully ignoring all the illegal immigrant hub-bub over the past few months. There are a couple of reasons for this. I am already pretty sure I know where everyone stands on it. I think I will just shoot from the hip and see how many people I can piss off with some generalizations. The bleeding heart fag liberals want to welcome everyone with open arms. Amnesty, I believe is the popular term being bandied about. The redneck, 5th grade edumacated GOP wants to load everyone up in train cars and ship their illegal no English speaking asses to the gas chambers.

 
To me, it’s just magic fire paper to distract you from the fact that Exxon Mobile just didn’t pay a gajillion dollars in tax money just like most other distractions in this country. “Look ma, the queers are tryin’ to get hitched, let’s go buy chicken.”

 
Here’s Mac’s take on illegals with absolutely zero shits given about where it strikes you. A few years ago, you could pick up illegals at Home Depot with impunity. You could pay said illegal (let’s just do away with PC formalities and call him Juan) and pay him $100 and he would work from daylight to dark with no breaks and exactly a 30 minute lunch. At the end of the 30 minutes on the nose, ol Juan got his ass back to work without being told. This is real life experience talking here folks. Juan would work frigging circles around your average American worker. There is absolutely no comparison so you can go get your red, white and blue panties knotted up if you want but it is an undisputable fact. American workers are lazy shits compared to Juan and his amigos. Why? It’s simple really. Juan is one hungry SOB. Or at least Juan’s family back in Mexico is hungry. But the good ole govt stepped in and pretty much put a stop to that practice. They instituted a fine for employers found to be working illegals. $500 a head or something to that effect. Well, that curbed a lot of the “problem”. It cured me from doing it anyway.

 
Most illegals in this country are doing pretty bottom of the barrel jobs. Americans love to say they are stealing jobs and that is warped but correct. Americans don’t really want those crap jobs but now I have to pay more money for lesser labor to get the job done so great. You win. I figure we only have about one generation anyway of hard working Mexicans. Once their kids join the workforce, they will be as X-Box sorry as every other white bread chickenshit Hockenberry (if you get this movie reference, comment and I will make TB give you something) in the workforce. This could lead me into a segue about the absolute pathetic morass that is young peoples’ work ethics today but I am gonna try to stay on point.

 
This brings me to my BIG point. If you legalize all these folks, not only is it unfair to those that did it the right way, you have to ask yourself “what is realistically going to happen to all these people?” I think the answer is crystal clear. They are not going to be making much money so they are quickly jump on Uncle Sams nipple and start suckling. This is where the Republicans are (as rare as it is) quite correct in their assessment of the situation. Democrats want to make all these folks citizens because it is going to give them a huge boost at the polls. Simple un-PC fact. Welfare folks vote Democrat.

 
So what’s the answer oh wise one? Shit, I don’t have a clue. If you are here illegally, your butt needs to be deported. I should not, under ANY circumstances, have to push ANYTHING for English. We should all be learning Spanish anyway. Beets are the worst food on the planet. And that’s all I have to say about that.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/i-havent-went-epic-in-awhile-so-lets-talk-about-illegal-immigration/

May
05

Internet Doctorin’

The internet is a truly marvelous thing. So much information at our fingertips. A lot of crap but it’s information none the less. There is an online joke that if you go to WebMD.com, you will have cancer because any symptoms you put in point you to cancer.

I have discovered yet another “ailment” that I suffered from as a child into my late 20’s. I would regularly have sharp chest pains when I was younger. Stabbing left side pain. It felt like my heart had caught on something and was tearing itself apart. This would last only a minute or two and then it would feel like it “let loose” and the pain would be gone. I would usually strike myself in the sternum and this usually seemed to help. I never told many people about it. Well, as it turns out, this ailment is well known and has a name. Precordial catch syndrome. Read about it here. Anyway, it doesn’t appear to be serious.I discovered this wiki page just stumbling around on the internet yesterday. Read it and had a serious “AH-HA” moment.

I also had Alice in Wonderland syndrome when I was younger and self diagnosed this reading an internet article. (Link). I haven’t had any of those symptoms in probably 15 years so hopefully I don’t have a brain tumor (possible reason listed in the wiki article and why it is scary to go off internet doctorin’). So I guess what I want to know is if there is anyone out there in the MTGU that has had similar experiences. Something you can talk about of course. We don’t need to hear about your anal warts.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/internet-doctorin/

May
04

May The Fourth Be With You

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/may-the-fourth-be-with-you/

May
01

TB’s Vanishing World (The #GladISawIt List)

Quote of the Day:

I never got to see Bob Marley”     –forlorn chorus of a song I heard a reggae band sing some years ago in the Bahamas; I can’t find the song anywhere on the web.

For the 42 years of TB’s lifetime, and beyond, the Chicago Cubs have managed to do only one thing right. That one thing is: nothing. At least for the most part, nothing, to their home stadium Wrigley Field.

Until now.

Wrigley Field, often referred to with the prefix “the friendly confines”,  is among the final vestiges of baseball as it was when it was our national pastime. It is greatness. To be there is to wallow in nostalgia and authenticity. The seats are crammed in tightly, the views are often obstructed, the beer lines are long….and yet no one seems to mind. It is a stadium suited to baseball, slow paced, intimate. It’s a place to while away a summer day without worrying about your job, your chores, your schedule. People there really are friendly. I guess that happens when a place makes them happy.

Truth is, Wrigley itself is only part of the Wrigley experience. And standing alone say, off an Interstate surrounded by TGIFridays, a CVS and a brand new Crate and Barrell, it would be an eyesore, a place to avoid, a property value killer. But it doesn’t stand alone. It sits in a neighborhood full of bars populated by college kids, tourists and lots of burly Chicagoans and their Cubbie-tube-top wearin’ girlfriends. On game day, the whole block takes on the feel of a college football campus–no other professional sporting team can replicate the vibe of Wrigley.

And now, this. They say it’s gonna be a “restoration” to an old timey look, not a “renovation.” Trust me though, with that big-ass hotel looming over left field in place of the apartment buildings and their rooftop bleachers, after the replacement of the seedy old bars full of 1940′s era pennants and memorabilia with a “Chili’s”, Wrigley as a national pilgrimage destination will be gone.

I’m damn glad to have been before the change, twice, once with MD and RSR and once with Sweet.

If you haven’t been yet, don’t put it off for another year.

Well, I promised you a list. Here it is, the things I’m glad I saw before they were/are gone:

  1. Wrigley, naturally
  2. Glacier National Park with my ARBs, The Daily Wit and Andrew, before the glaciers have melted.
  3. Rick Flair winning a-WOOOOO!- world championship in Biloxi.
  4. Roy Acuff singin’ the Wabash Cannonball at the Grand Ole Opry.
  5. The old Cleveland Municipal Stadium (the “Mistake by the Lake”) and Tiger Stadium in Detroit before renovations with MD and Smiley on an epic college road trip.
  6. Mississippi State whippin’ LSU in Baton Rouge at night in 1991–may never happen again.
  7. Star Wars with Richie Heath in 1977 from the balcony of the Ritz Theater.
  8. Prom night at the old White Pillars restaurant in Biloxi with Tiny D and others.
  9. The Li’l Scamp’s early childhood.
  10. My Grandmother’s old ramshackle house in the sticks.

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/05/tbs-vanishing-world-the-gladisawit-list/

Apr
30

Straight Talkin’ Gay Post

Quote of the Day:

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.”     –Oscar Wilde

Jason Collins came “out” yesterday publicly.

“Who the hell is Jason Collins?”, some of you might be saying to yourselves. He’s a basketball player and this post isn’t about him so much, though it is inspired by him. I’ve been listening to sports radio “debate” the fact of Collins’ sexuality all morning. I’ve been reading incredibly ignorant tweets from Tim Brando, even by his standards I mean. I’ve been hearing complaints that ESPN isn’t covering the “christian” perspective on this enough. Limbaugh, I understand, is cryin’ about the lack of tolerance for the pro-bigotry point of view.

Listening to Collins and to others who have been through what he is going through, especially about how surprised his twin brother was when he came out to him just last year got TB thinkin’……who do I know that is living in the closet?

Statistically, just looking at my Facebook friend list, someone is. Probably several. I know one person on my list is openly gay, possibly another, maybe a third now that I think about it. Who else, I wonder? More importantly, is there anything I am doing, or not doing, that contributes to someone’s silence and is there anything I can do to free them of the necessity of secrecy?

Probably not. But maybe. That’s why I’m writing this today.

In case my opinion is in doubt by someone to whom it matters, let me just say clearly: I don’t care. Not one bit. Gay, straight, bisexual, asexual–how you are wired is none of my damn business.  Live how you want to live. Be happy. Be nice to people. If we are friends today, we will be friends tomorrow.

I think you deserve to go to family gatherings with the person you love, to marry them and divorce them and marry the next person you love. I think you should be protected from those who would physically assault you, or insult you, or take away your job. I think you should preach, if you are called to it, but that you shouldn’t go into the clergy as a form of self denial.

I think you have just as good a chance as me, maybe better, of going to heaven; and I definitely like both of our odds if Rush Limbaugh somehow squeezes in.

I know these posts aren’t read by all of my friends, family and acquaintances. But on the off chance there is anyone out there who is shouldering the burden of whether to come out and who also resides in the MTGU, let me just say that you are safe with me, whether you want to keep it a secret or whether you want me to write your story for the whole so-called mainstream universe to see. Just give it to me straight. I’m on your side.

 

Permanent link to this article: http://www.missingtheground.com/2013/04/straight-talkin-gay-post/

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