hello dear readers and non shoppers! by non shoppers, I simply mean if you are reading this, you are likely not out shopping. I am a writer, and a non-shopper, for mere minutes. I will even be traveling to the accursed Wal-Mart soon, though hopefully Target, a slightly lesser evil. Not for nothing, it is my true goal to stay away from Wal-Marts, or The Wal Marts, in 2009. And I exhort you dear reader-friend to the same!
this brings me to a nice little digression.
I have been working through a good book, The Wal Mart Effect. Actually MA commandeered it, as she will on occasion. And that's just fine. We love, we share our lives, may as well share books too. Her most recent hostile takeover of our shared reading is a very cool little piece entitled, Un-Christian. Catchy little title. Bothersome to many, though definitely accurate. I spotted it in our local B.A.M., or, Books-A-Million, and immediately saw the great need in working through it. I feel it may have already captured many of my developing theories, thoughts, and ideas on what's happening in the world, the world of the church, to the church, and, just as often, because of the church.
Though that is for a 2009 post. Along with, I promise, the completion of my little 'A Requiem for Yankee Stadium'--the best working title I have birthed to date to detail our grand journey to the Bronx.
Though for today, I give you a gift. My writing is not the gift, not yet. Hopefully, one day, it will be a gift to all who read it! Though it's a ways off from 'sublime status'. hint: another goal of 2009.
I witnessed something the other day. Last Friday, to be exact (now a couple of Friday's ago). Here comes the set-up.
Auburn University is my sworn enemy since birth. At least, as far as gridiron rivals go. Though recently, it has turned into a tolerated, even respected, arch-rival, now peacefully taken out of 'full enemy combatant' statues only because of the dear people and true friends I know who have matriculated, and other various activities, at that particular institution of higher learning. Well, Auburn has fallen on some tough times, as far as the foos-ball program goes. Football if you're anyone other than Bobby Booshea!
A firing, or two, depending on how you look at ole' Tubbs, a losing season, a sound "old-fashioned country ass-whoopin" to quote their ignoble hero/coach/statesman, one Pat Dye. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, said old-fashion event did come at the hands of my beloved University of Alabama Crimson Tide. It's been a tough fall for the ole' war-eagles. But they'll be back. I say this, again, out of the love and respect I have for my friends...and as an educated, true arch-rival in the SEC, I know this won't last for long.
During the hiring search for their next head football coach, the national sports-media eye fixed squarely upon the Plains. Not for the good, either.
Long story short, with the help of writers who live on controversy (so much so, they can manufacture it with mastery that rivals Mercedes-Benz. And they got a little help from one of their alums" one Charles Barkley. The controversy took a decidedly racial turn, as things always will, given the chance. The absolute finest of Alabamian tolerance, progressive thought, compassion and justice found it's way to the Paul Finebaum's radio show one fine Friday afternoon. Where else?
Now, if you look hard enough, you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism in that last paragraph. (check that--that should read "...you may find a trace amount of sarcasm and cynicism every thing I've every written...", but I digress)
Long-and-getting-longer-story-short, I heard a few callers that very nearly made me literally sick. At best, they made me angrier than I know is good for me and just as embarrassed to be from the south. That's sometimes a tough thing. For all our flaws and all the stigma of being a backwards, inbreeding wasteland, deserved and not deserved, there is great beauty in the south and I am proud to be born where I was born, from where I am from. Granted, many of my closest friends and family still say some things I almost literally cannot believe I'm hearing!
That day put me to the test. I have had enough of racism and prejudice. And even though I am aware of my own character flaws, even though I have been guilty and convicted of the same prejudice, racism, and throw in a dash of sexism, consumerism, capitalism, communism, alcoholism, name an ism, we are all guilty. The point is: I am trying. Hearing and heeding the call to follow Jesus requires one to travel light. You have to leave your isms behind, and never go back for them.
I had nearly hung my head in shame and given up on enlightenment, love and equality in my lifetime, racially speaking, at least.
And then I witnessed something. In the middle of Memorial Parkway in Huntsville, Alabama, one home of the strongest remaining bastions of racial disharmony, it happened.
My co-pilot--that is, my mommy--and I were turning the radio off, in disgust and utterly despairing of the human condition's seeming lack of progress in civil rights and racial equality. To top it all off, there was a car broke down right in the middle of the road! It was slowing already snail-like traffic and Christmas crowds. One more frustration. Or so I thought.
I then noticed the folks were at least doing something about it. It was their car, they should get it fixed and out of harm's way...and my way. Or so I thought.
I then noticed what seemed like a stranger jumping out of their car--in the middle of a major thoroughfare, mind you--to help their fellow man. Their fellow woman, actually. I couldn't have received a better sign of encouragement for humanity at that particular time in my life. Or so I thought.
Then another caring fellow had leaped from his car. Good will still exists. This couldn't have had a better ending. Or so I thought.
The finishing touch of this solid sign of human good had one more thing to reveal. As the car eased into Burger King parking lot and Huntsville's finest arrived on the seen, I saw the two strangers who had been simultaneously convicted to help another stranger. The looked at each other, and surely saw the differences that I noticed.
The difference in these two was striking. Not predominant, but a difference that made me think. They dressed in similar fashion. The general size was the same. They were both men, probably locals it seemed. The only real difference in the two strangers was the pigmentation of their skin: one dark, one light. A black dude, and white dude. Working, walking, serving, living together. Side by side, these two real people saw another real person in need, and they jumped in to help. Their differences weren't all that important to them at that time. And in my realization of their difference, I could see that they weren't all that different after all.
A glimmer of promise came breaking through at that instant and soothed my aching, cynical soul. Christmas time was getting good. And it was working. These two people just realized they were in fact more neighbors than strangers. And the showed the world this very good news. That day, they were Hunstville's finest. The Finebaum conversations were remembered, though mostly just as a reminder of occasional ignorance and how aged, inhumane, racist thought can one day be the only, actual minority.
I hope the wait, the build up, and the big deal I made of this little occurrence was worth it. It was a long way around though sometimes we need just that. That damp, muggy, December day, I was thankful I took the long way home. Had I not, I wouldn't have caught a glimpse of the true Way home: breaking into this world, one stalled car at a time.
Peace be with you. I pray that you Christmas was warm, happy and holy and that your new year--our new year--is one that brings us together more and more. We've so much to do together.
For an amazing journey of discovery or remembrance of the struggle we have been through and still work toward fixing, you simply must watch the HBO documentary Breaking the Huddle. And I have it tivo'ed if you want to see it. I'll watch it with you.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
You Tell Em' Steve!
If you recall, if you have read, a few blogs back, I mentioned that I was working through, rather joyously, Steve Martin's autobiography. Well, I actually finished it, a rare triumph for me these days. In it he recalled two of his best jokes, jokes that I actually remembered from my childhood even. The first one hit a nerve, or rather resonated, inspired, something...here is goes. "A fella came up to me in a club and said, "Do you mind if I smoke?". Steve replied, "Of course not, do you mind if I fart?"
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
I tried to go buy some cereal and some milk the other day. Yes, these days I am really pushing the culinary envelope: will it be Capn' Crunch today, and which of the three types should I pursue? (further, shouldn't he have been promoted to the rank of admiral by now?). Back to the quest! I tried to find my cereal and its accoutrements, so I traveled to every store in my little town. Both of them had two things in common. They each had a poor selection of damaged goods...literally, and each cashier/register check-out area had a happy worker surrounded by a cloud of smoke, a big ash-tray full of stale and stinking cigarette butts, and a seemingly forgotten, burning, cigarette! Now I am all for people's rights, even to kill themselves with cigarettes. I, in fact, worked toward that lofty goal for many years though , saints be praised, I have been free from the dreaded things for years now. Though I do find it completely ridiculous that someone should be subjected to second, third, fourth or even 23rd hand smoke if they don't want to be so subjected! And I find myself growing increasingly intolerant of this. I hope I'm not falling, or regressing, into curmudgeonism
When I see or even know of a parent or other adult smoking near, anywhere near, a child, this simple, country, preacher's blood starts-a-boilin'! If I see a child in a car with a smoking smoker, I go nuclear (officially back to correct pronunciation in 32 or so days). If the windows of the car are shut, detonation is imminent! And anyone with child, as in with child, who smokes is as stupid as stupid is...and does. Stupid is as stupid does. It is what it is.
A restaurant, for example, should be free from smoke, completely, as should other public places. And folks, that means the doorways too! What's the real point of a smoke-free joint (no, that's not oxymoronic) if one is breathing and saturated with smoke on the way in, and on the way out? And for the love of God and cancer-free lungs, a 'smoking' and 'non-smoking' section DOES NOT WORK!!! Smoke drifts. It is smoke! I should certainly hope, and I remain optomistic, that the post office or banks or shops of my little berg don't have the constant guard of the eternal Winston 100 flame! It's not 1956, after all. Nor is it my grandmother's kitchen any year before 1995. Well, that may just be the problem. Some places and people advance through time, and some refuse to. I would say though, to those fighting the good fight against the future, "save your strength". The future will win. We'll even be happy to have you in the present.
This is not a p.s.a. against smoking: teen, pregnant, or otherwise. And I know that I should be much more patient and forgiving, in every aspect of my life. Though I am human. I am prone to get pissed, on occasion, and I have that right. So do you. I simply felt that it is what I should write about this week. Fittingly enough, I needed to vent.
Of course, I think folks should forever be allowed to keep cigarettes burning in every good bar in God's green earth for all eternity. Not just for Humphrey Bogart-esque, tres cool, cinematic, effect either.
There is just something about smoking and drinking--together. They go together like you know, peas and carrots, The Crimson Tide and winning, even Bogart and Bacall! (Feel free to substitute Bergman for Bacall). Today is Keith Richards birthday by the way. And while I would simultaneously love and hate to be his dentist (a great amount of business, though a nasty business I would imagine it to be!), or his 'falsies' cleaner, Keith even gives Bogey himself a run for the money when it comes to being cool with a stogey. Sir Keith has nearly turned his fag (the British colloquialism for cigarettes...what did you think I meant?) into a musical instrument!
If this seems hypocritical, well, so be it. I used to smoke. I saw the absurdity of it, not to mention I smelled and breathed the absurdity of it, and I stopped. It's plain common sense.
I stopped. Cold. Turkey. I stopped cold turkey years ago. I want you to stop. And while I want you to stop, because I care about you and others, not because of the incredible irritation, I would nearly fight for your right to smoke if you want to...so long as it doesn't infect me or anyone else. Let your cries of hypocrite ring out! I'll hear them with cleaner lungs and better smelling clothes. Forgive me--everybody's got to have somebody to look down on. (I think that was Kristofferson?) But please know, I don't look down on smokers. Not at all. I just hate that nasty smoke coming of their cigarettes. (Kristofferson did recently say something I love. He quipped, "God bless America. And God bless the others outside our borders." He prefaced that by saying "God bless Obama". Even in 2008, that kind of talk is nothing short of revolutionary. Rock on K-rok!)
Smoking and drinking were the great tandem love of my life for many years. MA gave me a new love, back some 15 or so years ago. And thanks to the incredible regenerative spirit of our bodies, I have new lungs. Though yes, I enjoyed a libation or two while imbibing Carolina's finest back in 'the day'. And when I say I enjoyed it, I mean to tell you, I enjoyed it bud! I enjoyed these peccadillos bigger, better, harder, faster, louder, longer than most people ever will, and probably more than you would believe! I don' say this to boast, it's certainly nothing to boast about. In fact, it was an awful sight and downright shameful. Though it ain't the end of the world either. We live, we learn. The key is to make sure we do both as best we can. Anyway, God regularly thrives on changing people's lives and dwells in the impossible. Marlboro and Budweiser notwithstanding, God has done the impossible and changed my life. And I am the better for it.
Ahhh, the glory days. Long gone the days of rousing, carousing, smoking and drinking. Long gone are the hangovers--saints be praised...again! Though what is it I actually do these days? Oh yes. O Capn', my Capn'! Cereal and milk. Milk and cereal. Well, we all have our vices.
Ahoy mateys!
MMS~
(Back to 'Tales From New York City" next week. And to hold your interest over, here's the other funny from Steve, the long-crowned (by me) king of funny...
Early in The Jerk (Universal, 1979), our antagonist, Navin Johnson, is found hitch-hiking his way to St Louis. And though he is mere miles from his house, a 'fer piece' from St Louis, he gets a potential hitch -hiker picker-upper. The generous fella, taking notice of Navin's sign, pulls over and asks him, "St. Louis?". Dear Navin looks back with the curiosity and confusion of a little, lost puppy and replies, "no. Navin Johnson." adieu.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The Non-Greek Delta
I should clarify my closing statement from Monday's entry. (I sure seem to write a lot of clarifications...almost as common as my parenthetical addendums!) Though with the rampant popularity of the cinematic masterpiece Sydney White, I fear some may be confused with our 'Delta house' reference to be of a fraternal, or 'sororital' (to quote Amanda Bynes magnificant portrayal of the film's namesake, Sydney White) nature. Our 'Delta journey' had nothing to do with (1) revenging nerds (though MA may debate that one) (2) John Belushi, togas, coming on and shouting, or any such 'Flounder' sagas (too bad, that would have been a great, Greek, week) or (3) my cousin Keith and his historic tales of indian parties, rival frat maylees, and th never-bathing Smilin' Jim Burkoff...
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
all that, yes, all that, to say MA and I woke up on September 18--EARLY--and hopped in our Honda Civic to away to our dearest Atlanta, home and hub of Delta Airlines.
We were up and at em' about 3a. Now folks, that's a tough one for me. I bet its tough for anyone who regularly falls asleep on couches drifting in and out of HBO infected dreams until, say, 3a! Not to mention that sleeping on a night before such an excursion seemed comparably impossible to getting that 'good night's sleep' before Christmas. And I don't care how old you have let yourself get, that one's tough to do!
This vaca for my beautiful bride and me was like Christmas in September, to quote any number of retail giants. Plainly and simply, I was stoked. Stoked to the max, brah!
It was obviously still pitch-black-night in Baileyton, and in said Baileyton, pitch-black-night yields one of the most breathtaking of canvases for starlit nights in all ruraldom! In fact, that's one of the things I love most about our little hamlet. Cool, crisp, nights of brightly lit star-scapes and fresh, fresh air. They are a gift.
Back to our quest...
Mom (Ann) rose with us, as is her tendency. We squared away our pups, got them one last eat/poop and pee/stroll cycle--what a life, btw--and they were then set. I was confident that we could enjoy New York and arrive back with no problems of poop or pee, whatever. Oh, how naive we can be my friends! To foreshadow just a bit, think 'apocalyptic destruction'. And stinky to boot. Though I urge you to not let this prophetic vision sway the great joy that was, and is, and is to come, from this tres' chic metropolis. We were on our way! After we turned around, that is. I forgot something, I just can't remember what it was that I forgot. Maybe, probably, my wallet? And so we headed toward Guntersberg. All of this took place on a 'below e' gas tank. It is my way, though MA strongly rather it weren't. We made it. We made it to Guntersvegas, we made it to Anniston, we made it to Georgia, then Atlanta, and then, finally, to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. It was a great trip over, though it did take a little while. It took a few turns, and a few turn-arounds, though we made it. And, now hold on to your hats...we were made it there early.
We parked in a discount long term lot, which was not a problem, so long as one doesnt mind walking to the terminals and concourses and such from Alabama. We, being from Alabama, didn't.
I have been to this airport--one of the biggest airports in the world--many times. I have taken Mom as she set off to Fortress Europa, or China, or Egypt. I have dropped youth groups en route to Jamaica (when I also dropped their luggage trailer off the van, as I drove 'round 285!), and I have even flown out of there on my way to San Antonio, heading to Lackland Air Force base...but that's another story, for another time.
In any event, this airport is BIG folks! Bigger than I remembered, expected, or even hoped for. I figure, if your going to fly, fly big. BIg planes, big airports, you know, big TIME! Well, again, the drive to the Atlanta airport was very pleasant. If you have never driven east into the rising sun, you must do so at your first available opportunity. There are plenty of places to shop, browse, peruse, sip, chomp, sit, talk, and yes, wait. It's so cool, the airport is bigger and more modern than most cities in Alabama! Bigger than most cities in the south, actually. I loved it.
Just what is it about airports, anyway? Is it just me? There's this wonderfully grandiose sensation I get when in, even around, an airport. They make us feel small, in the grand schema, and as I have states previously, I think that's good. Perhaps it is that in the same way that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step, many good journeys to many far away exotic locales usually begins with some airport, somewhere. There are so many great films , and I do not mean Airplane, more like James Bond, even Vince, E, Turtle, Ari, and Johnny Drama! Premadonnas though they may be. Many great pieces of literature, art, even music. Por ejemplo:
Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on
Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich you know I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven
Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, Oh big ol' jet airliner
Cause it's here that I've got to stay
that was Sir Steve Miller, Jet Airliner. fight song for our dear Craig "Dr Burns" Burns.
anyway, airports:
Folks departing, arriving, or simply loitering around these places. International intrigue, white hot romance, news, newness, sadness, seeing the world, off to war, or I think best of all, coming home. Next time you find yourself in an airport, give it some thought. And let em know. For real.
We checked in, using the self check machines, with plenty of help from attendees. We grabbed some coffee, some newspapers, to feel important and maybe read. We grabbed some coffee, yes, again, of course. We nabbed a muffin of scone or something, blueberry I'm sure. MA and I found a nice couple of big chairs. We had earned our rest and we needed to store up as much rest as we could. I fired up the ole' trusty MacBook and figured I'd take care of my last couple of pre-procrastinated business and personal details. And poop! I couldn't get a signal!!! I can get that, or not get that, at home! No big deal, I just didnt go through all the registration hoopla, and I made my last few phone calls. Our dear church pillar, Margaret Jean was doing well and very excited for us! Mom was fine, and very excited for us too. Of course she was, she seems to get the vicarious benefits of our exciting life. The exciting parts of our life, at least. And, no poop. From the doggies, that is. Well, so far, that is...
Part next, "In the Air, In the Air, Come on One More Time Girl it Ain't Fair!", coming soon:
(don't worry, despite the Aerosmithian title, it's perfectly tame, clean, and wonderfully entertaining. see you soon!)
hasta pronto,
Mateo M Smith, Esquire
Monday, December 1, 2008
I Left My Heart in San Fransisco, No Wait, I Mean New York
While many may have dreams of sugar plums dancing in their heads this time of year, I have something far less fruity...though every bit as sweet! Those purple passions coated with Domino jackets and dancing their Macarana's ain't got nothing on the city that never sleeps. Though New York is straight up working the pole in my R.E.M.-cycled world, nearly three months after the trip of a lifetime. Well, the trip of a lifetime so far. New York, New York, the city so cool you have to say it twice. You may know it as the Big Apple. Gotham. The capital city of the Empire State. New York is far and away the coolest place I have ever been...and I've been to Brookside, Alabama!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
The strangest thing of all is that the genesis of this journey was born out of the desire to see the New York Yankees. Yes, the Yankees, a team I typically despise. Though a great pilgrimage to the baseball Mecca had to be made. I grew up glued to t.v.'s that seemed glued to Yankee Stadium. I remember the pennant series against the Royals in 1977 (or was it 76? That year is the cut-off. I can't remember a thing, other than replays, of baseball pre 1977). I do remember the Bucky Dent home-run, 1978, which still kills me! I remember, yes the Yankees putting the knife in my heart during the 1996 world series against my beloved Braves, though not before Andruw Jones JACKED his first two world series at bats! And all the Jeter inspired magic, that spread over to Brett Boone in what, 2002? 2003? And all those Yankess v Red Sox classics, not the least of which is the 2004 pennant series! Go Sox!
2008 would be the last year for 'The House That Costanza, I Mean Ruth, Built'!
You see, I had to go.
The strange thing is that MA didn't have to go. She knows what a baseball looks like, and what I sound like when Bobby Cox cranks up his left finger for mining as his right hand directs the collapse of game after game for my Atlanta Braves. She doesnt, or never has, lived, breathed, bled baseball. Though she knows I did...and do. She is something else. Something else.
My mom came down to house and dog sit, or actually, provide a warm body around those two things. Our neighbor Mia would come and tend to the dogs, and check up on the mother. Admittedly, Farnsworth would turn out to be a bit of a challenge. Who would have thought that! The church knew we would be away. They seemed unsure of why we wanted to go to New York, of all places, though they did try to embrace it. Everything was cool. Off we went.
Next time: Late to bed, early to rise, to Delta's house we go!
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