Monday, April 04, 2005
Last night the old dude living across the street from me was at it again. Mowing grass in the dark. I think he's off his rocker. If the riding mower had lights on it, I could see mowing after dark. If it was hotter than hay dees , which it is here on the Georgia coast in the summertime, I might consider mowing after dark. Booney, that's what I call him, doesn't have or doesn't use (if he has 'em) headlights on his Murray. So you don't think I'm just being cruel, Booney does other weird suff. He likes to drive his big ol' Caprice around in his yard. I notice it mostly when I'm sitting on the front porch smoking, at night (Miz Patti don't 'llow no smokin' in the house). He drives around to his back stoop, stops, gets out, walks around to the trunk, opens it, closes it, then gets back in the Caprice and drives off through the side yard and up the street. Recently the Boonman cut some trees down in his back yard. They lie (chickens lay, things lie) there for about a week; one night I'm sitting on the porch and he drives around behind his house, does the gettin' out-goin' behind the Caprice thing, and when he heads out across the fescue, he's draggin' a big ol' branch. Pretty clever Boo Rad, drag those limbs over to the edge of the street and the city boys will haul 'em away. Wrong; he proceeds to drag the timber to the grassy knoll that seperates the street. He keeps doin' this for about a week 'till it looks like a brush heap in the median. What's next? You won't believe this, tonight he was up on his roof with a leaf blower. Booney my man, your antenna is pointed to a planet that isn't in our solar system and the reception is damn fine.
Friday, April 01, 2005
I gotta quit smoking. I can't imagine spending a hundred bucks or more a month on medicine to lower my chloesterol (or however you spell it). I spend that much or more each month on tubes of paper filled with a plant that, when burned and inhaled, put tar, chemicals, and Howdy Doody knows what else in my lungs. Over a hundred bucks a month for something I set ablaze and intentionally burn to the butt. Must be the hand mouth thing. Or maybe it's the taste with the first cup of coffee each morning. Yeah, that must be it, because the rest of the day my mouth tastes like well, an ashtray. What about the role models I had in my youth? They were cool when they lit up in the movies. Cowboys could roll 'em with one hand. Debonair gentlemen lit up when talking to a dame. A guy about to face the firing squad was given one before he ate lead. Hell, just writing about that made me slip into "movie speak". And what about the ads on tv? When you flew on an airlines they gave you complimentary packs. And the really deal clincher, they were forbidden for young people. Once I decided to smoke one of my grandfathers cigars. I carefully smuggled one out of the house, hid it behind his workshop for a couple of days until I go up enough courage to light it. I got caught because my grandmother saw the smoke coming from behind the workshop. My green color may have also contributed to my aprehension. They figured I had enough punishment from the Hav-A-Tampa and let me off the hook. Later that night, we all sat in the den at ther house and watched tv while my grandfather smoked Lucky Strikes. There was always a haze of blue smoke in the den when we watched tv in the evenings. He worked for American Tobacco in Reidsville, N.C. until he retired. Duh.
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