Let Us Give Thanks

Strangely enough, Thanksgiving has always just seemed like a precursor to Christmas to me - sort of like the checkered flags dropping to say, "Start your engines! You are getting ready to eat and stress your way through the new year!"

I've never been into the mottled mess that is the Thanksgiving history lesson...or the Thanksgiving day parade....or the insane burst of consumerism blamed on Christmas cheer that comes right after. I never really even know how to decorate for it. It stumps me somewhat....where does one get a horn of plenty?

The main things that come to mind about Thanksgiving to me are:


(1) That sucking noise. The one that cranberry sauce makes as it's factory vacuum seal is released and it slides from the rippled can to jiggle on the plate.

(Do people eat cranberry sauce during the rest of the year? Does anyone say on a regular basis, "Hey honey, can you run by the market on the way home from work and pick up diapers, milk and cranberry sauce?")

(2) Giblet gravy. As a kid, I would eat bowls and bowls of giblet gravy just like it was soup. I'd beg for the stuff. Then one day, I found out what giblets were. That pretty much nipped that in the bud.

(3) Hand turkeys. I love turkeys made from traced hands. I once tried to decorate the top of a Thanksgiving cake by holding my hand in the air and tracing it's outline over the cake with icing. It didn't work worth a damn and I'm here to tell ya.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

And Janet Leigh says, "What the...?"

Here is a little film starring my mannequin boy, Jack Lemmon:

Boo! Y'all

Halloween is my favorite holiday by far. I think that's so because it's always been so magical and fun. I can remember the thrill as a kid - running around the neighborhood, trying in vain to breathe behind wet, foggy hard plastic masks with their tight rubber band straps cutting into my scalp and gathering up candy just by yelling, "Trick or Treat!!" at the top of my lungs at total strangers. Total strangers giving out candy just because I yelled at them. Kid heaven.

At the end of the night, it never failed that I had a cut on my tongue (from the teeny tiny plastic mouth slots in those masks...I used to jam my tongue through trying to find oxygen) AND that my brother and I were still in our costumes and surveying our hoard of candy on the living room floor like people about to go out into the wilderness with only the candy in our plastic pumpkins for survival. The orange and black papered peanut butter taffy and the circus peanuts were always last on my imagined food chain. Fresh fruit and raisins - ditto.

Growing up in the South, it was sometimes chilly and brisk like you see in movies about Halloween but a lot of the time, it was hot too. When it was indeed hot, the trick or treating was pretty brutal in those nylon costumes. I'll never forget the sound that sweating nylon legs made as they rubbed together during a good run to beat the rest of the kids to the "rich peoples' houses" for the best candy - miniature candy bars! Have mercy! I also remember the nationwide scare/myth of razors in apples and candy which led Moms everywhere to treat each goody as a possible kid killer....thus we trick-or-treaters hid a couple of handfuls in the pockets of our Rough Houser jeans for good measure. As a kid, you're about nothing if not living on the edge. And rebellious sugar highs.

My favorite Halloween memory was the year that my Mom let us go down the street to the rental home of the "Confederates", a local motorcycle gang that was notorious far and wide for being rough and tumble and hardcore, and who displayed Confederate flags on their bikes and clothes. This was completely out of character for my protective Mom and as kids, our blood pumped with new found freedom and the danger that loomed ahead on the peeling porch of that run-down mill hill house.

My Mom stood at the bottom of the steps with watchful eye as my brother and I made our way up to the front door. The door was answered by one of the Confederates who instantly yelled to the other bikers inside that they had to see. My brother was led into the living room where the Confederates were watching TV. They then started to hoot and holler over my brother's Ace Frehley costume. They couldn't get enough of it. My brother stood there and shined like a new penny in the glow of the spotlight. After talking with him about who their favorite member of KISS was (the lead biker's favorite was Gene Simmons) they gave him some candy and then one of the female Confederates turned to see me, lingering in the doorway and said, "Oh my goodness! She's a little angel!" and giggled. She then put some candy into my plastic pumpkin and complimented me on my bent coat hanger halo wrapped in tacky gold Christmas tree tinsel. As we walked away, my brother and I were both gloating from the unexpected positive attention and lack of injury laid upon us by the neighborhood rabble rousers.

Afterwards, we went to the local stop-and-go, Sam's Curb Market and reached our short arms deep into an ice cube filled claw foot bathtub in vain, trying to win the prizes of shiny quarters and dimes that evaded our numb fingers, deep at the bottom of the tub.

weekend milked

The weekend is winding down fast but it has been a good one - lazy and entertaining for the most part.

Last night, the boy and I went to an air guitar competition with a friend. Sadly, there were only three "guitarists" but still the crowd was stoked. Here is a photo of competitor #3:







The competition was to promote a film called "Air Guitar Nation"(awesome film which I would highly recommend). I was disappointed by the turnout but I think it was the usual Nashville situation. People just never turn out for things here (and if they do, a lot of the time, they talk through the acts loudly).

Across the street, several hundred screaming people drank beer in plastic cups and danced in a parking lot to an 80's cover band. As we left, two girls drinking beer and wearing sombreros kissed each other so that some guys could take photos of them.

(Girls Gone Cinco De Mayo)

Today, we ran errands and went for a leisurely walk around Spring Hill Cemetery in Madison. Here are some photos from the day:


These are from the grocery store (yep, I take photos everywhere):






Sadistic photo, no?






Truck load of meat! And it's on sale!





(parking space for expectant mothers)(or storks who shop)





I think I've met this guy (or could it just be the Willie Nelson resemblance?)




Here are some cemetery photos:


Jimmy Martin:




Hank Snow:




Big Slim Benham:




Photo from mausoleum:






Photo left on mausoleum wall:




Photo on grave:





Coloring book pages taped to mausoleum:





Flowers left in pill bottle on mausoleum:




Pretty grave statue:






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hey good looking, I'll be back to pick you up later

This week has been the worst. The pits. I'm more frazzled than a rat in a coffee can.

If my psyche had a Mr. Microphone, it would be 7 straight days of:


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGH!!!!!!!!

sport

Usually, I only kick myself after missing choice events at the fairground (buying other people's stolen stuff from the sheriff's department)(gun shows) (gun shows) (psychic fairs) (gun shows) but this time around, the boy and I caught wind of a dog relay rally event and headed down for a looksy.


It was a blast! Thankfully, there were less stage moms than we guessed (though we saw one who had lost her freakin' mind and yelled at her dog in a lengthy tirade- It made me want to revoke my "No Clobbering Idiots" rule.)

Here are some of my favorite shots courtesy of the boy (click on the pictures for a closer view of the frenzy):


















(Border Collies are insane and I must have one.)










And in case you've never heard a load of dogs collectively losing their minds, listen and look here:




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me

I usually shy away from photos of myself, but this one I LOVE. Isn't the decay of the house stunning?




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honky tonk hayride

Just a few bathroom photos from nights out honky tonkin' (call me a "redneck" or an "old timer", but that's what we call it here - honky tonkin'.)


Jesus knocking on the United Nations building:





A call to arms:




No explanation needed:





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