Teddy and Doyle

I’m going to assume most of you know about my musical past. I want to assume this, because I don’t feel like explaining it again. Just being honest about it.

I knew Teddy and Doyle, The Wilburn Brothers. They were super nice guys—at least nice to this kid (me), back in the early 70’s.

They had a syndicated television show, The Wilburn Brothers Show, which was on the air for many years. Once when my family and I were in Nashville, we went to a taping. They taped three or four shows at a time.

On the third or fourth taping of the show, Teddy and Doyle were getting a little tired and punchy and kept cracking up during the opening credits to the show. They had to redo it at least 20 times and even after that, they still mostly laughed their way through the opening –much like in the YouTube clip I’m posting here.

To Will, a regular commenter here: Yeah, Will, this is Country Music, so I know you won’t be watching. I’ll try to do better next time.

We’ll be back on Saturday with another post.

(YouTube video)

Nothing Stays the Same

I’m not certain, but this will probably be the last post I’ll write about Melissa.

She’s a prostitute I met here in Covington in the spring. We became friends—well, sort of—then she wanted to give me a discount on her services which made me feel strange and ever since then, our relationship has become a little awkward.

I still see Melissa sometimes. Last week, I was taking a walk on Pike Street and saw her on the other side of the street. I waved. Maybe she didn’t see me. Maybe she had her eye on a ‘John’ up ahead.

Last night, I found myself in Walgreens yet again buying some paper towels. When I came out of the store, there was Melissa sitting on one of the bus benches. She smiled at me and wanted to know if I had an extra cigarette. I told her I left my smokes at home which was the truth.

She immediately got up from the bus bench. I was walking to my right—Melissa turned left. She seemed a bit pissed.

Nothing stays the same. As I’ve said before, I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me. It is what it is and it’s probably best to leave things the way they are, but I can’t say I don’t feel sad about it.

(Photo from accountantslike.com)

Do I Need an Attitude Adjustment?

I want to make it clear that I enjoy living in Covington, Kentucky just fine. While reading some of the comments here and with the Living Out Loud column in CityBeat, I may have made the impression that I don’t like it here. One commenter on the LOL column said that Covington sounds like a “nightmare.”

It’s not. I’ve made a lot of new friends here. Maybe I just write about the bad encounters I’ve had and if that’s so (and it probably is), I’ll change that in the weeks ahead. However, for this post, I’ll stick with the bad.

Yesterday afternoon around four o’clock, I finally remembered that I was out of coffee. That wouldn’t be a good thing to discover in the morning. I decided to just bite the bullet, pay the high price, and walk on up to Walgreens on Madison Avenue to get some.

There was a line, of course. After I got done paying for the coffee, I, of course, stepped outside to walk home. It was raining cats and dogs.

What the hell. I’d just smoke a cigarette and wait for the rain to pass over. I stepped as far away from the door as I possibly could without having to step out into the wind and rain.

Standing there alone, minding my own business and smoking my cigarette, I looked to my left and saw a heavyset lady in a wheelchair. She was making a face at me.

“You can’t be smoking that close to the doorway,” she said.

“I’m as far away as I can be without going out into the weather,” I replied.

“You’re blowing smoke in my face,” she said.

I was several feet away from the lady and was blowing the smoke out to the empty sidewalk.

“I’m not smoking smoke in your face,” I replied.

“I’m going to go inside and tell the manager and have you removed,” she said, starting to wheel her wheelchair and herself inside the store. At that point, knowing more or less that I was trying to be considerate to a cranky old, fat lady, I sort of lost it.

“Go right ahead, you idiot,” I said, realizing the rain was letting up. “By the time you get back, I’ll be long gone.”

“We’ll see about that,” she said.

“Why yes we will,” I replied, taking a drag off my cigarette and blowing the smoke in her direction. “You had better wheel fast, lady.”

The lady gave me a shocked look and wheeled herself back into the store. I continued to stand there to finish my cigarette. I smoked the damn thing down to the butt, because I wanted the lady along with the manager to come out. They never did. With the rain nearly stopped, I walked on home.

I’ve written here lately that I’m going to stop taking shit from anybody over here. Again, the nice people I have met here in Covington outweigh the bad, but the bad is starting to bore the hell out of me.

Do I need an attitude adjustment? Maybe I did when I first moved to Covington, but not anymore.

(Graphic found on Google)

Excitement Mounts as the Republican National Convention Begins

No, not really, no real excitement at all. Maybe a hurricane, as in Isaac, would make it more interesting. Come on Mother Nature, help us out here.

Now to be fair, when the Democrats have their convention, there isn’t much to get excited about either, but the Republicans are going first, so I’ll pick on them.

Actually, I don’t even feel like doing that, not worth the effort. I’m certainly not excited about a Romney/Ryan ticket and, you know, a guy can’t fake it.

The major networks are only planning on giving the convention an hour’s worth of prime time each night. They’re also thinking it’s going to be boring.

There’s going be a video tribute to Ron Paul tonight. I may actually watch this. Oh, probably not.

If you’re interested, here’s a schedule as to what’s happening through Thursday night.

Gotta go—gotta watch some paint dry.

(Image from tumblr.com)

Helping the Little Guy

I was thinking the other day that I spend too much money at Walgreens. Yes, it’s very convenient for me to just walk up to Madison Avenue here in Covington (You all should know by now that’s where I live) and get what I need there—but Walgreens is a big company. Maybe I should help the little guy more.

There’s a smaller drug store about three blocks down from me called Save Discount Drugs. I’ve never been in the store and I needed a pack of cigarettes. Why not go there instead of Walgreens and get the smokes? I’d be helping the little guy.

I made my way to Save Discount. Walking in, I noticed that except for the cashier, I was the only one in the store. Having never been inside before, I decided to look around for a little bit.

The cashier, a tall, older guy, eyeballed me as I wandered around.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“No thanks,” I replied. “I’m just looking around.”

The cashier got out from behind his counter and started following me around. I’m a guy who walks with a cane. What did he think I was going to do—grab a bottle of aspirin and run out of the store?

I walked back to the front of the store and the cashier went back behind the counter. I asked him for a pack of Pall Mall.

“$4.45,” he said. I stared at him for a few seconds.

“That much for Pall Mall?” I said. “That’s like over a buck higher than Walgreens.”

“This isn’t Walgreens,” the cashier said with a smirk on his face.

“No, it sure isn’t,” I replied as I handed him a five-dollar-bill.

Walking back to my apartment, I knew that I would never “shop” at Save Discount Drugs again. I like the idea of helping the little guy, but when the little guy is a bit rude and expensive, the liking part goes away. I’ll save a few steps and some money by just going to Walgreens.

(Photo from fugly.com)

More Dead and More Hurt Because of More Guns

Here we go again. A gunman opened fire outside the Empire State Building in New York City yesterday morning. He’s dead, but he managed to kill somebody and wound ten others before the cops could stop him. Update: It’s now being reported that the police are responsible for all those wounded.

This type of violence in our country is becoming so commonplace; it hardly even raises an eyebrow anymore. We just read about it or watch the news on television as we drink our coffee and eat our Cheerios in the morning.

We have come to view this violence as normal behavior. Of course, if you speak out about needing gun control, that’s not considered normal behavior. I wrote about this on August 24^th of last year—hell, a year ago now. I received a ton of hate mail on the column. How dare I want to take away somebody’s gun.

Romney doesn’t want to about gun control. Neither does Obama. It’s a hard conversation to have but sometimes hard conversations are needed. Don’t you think it’s time?

I know. I’ll shut up and go back to drinking my coffee and eating my Cheerios.

(Photo from breakingnews.com)

Men Who Get Facelifts

I’m talking about men here, but you can insert “women” anywhere you want. I feel the same way about them too.

Here’s a link to a website showing some famous men who have gone under the knife. Singer Kenny Rogers looks the worse but they all look pretty bad.

Do you know what men look like after they get a facelift? Like men who have gotten a facelift and that means they look all pinched and tight and ridiculous.

Kenny Rogers, you’re 74-years-old. That’s your number now. Look and act your age. You’re not fooling anybody with your facelift. The same to the rest of you.

I’m done now. I’ll be back on Saturday with another post.

(Photo from topsocialite.com)

No Longer a Grump or a Crab

There I was again, sitting on the stoop outside my apartment building in Covington, Kentucky. I hadn’t slept all that well the night before, so I was a bit of a grump, a crab—whatever you want to call it on that morning four days ago. I was smoking a cigarette.

“Hey!” I heard somebody say. I looked to my left. Seeing Kris didn’t make me feel better.

As he started walking towards me, I knew immediately what he was going to say. When it comes to smoking, I guess I can never let my guard down.

“Hey!” he repeated. “You’re smoking again!”

“Just every once in a while,” I said.

“You told me you quit.”

“I’m still trying to,” I replied.

“You wanta know why you ain’t seen me?”

“No, not really,” I said.

“Broke my probation,” Kris said, ignoring the fact that I just told him I wasn’t interested. “I’ve been out for a couple days now.”

“That’s nice,” I replied.

“I couldn’t smoke when I was locked up,” he said. “It was hard man, really hard.”

“I’m sure it was,” I said.

“Hey, you got an extra. . .”

“We’re not getting into that anymore.”

“Please?”

“No,” I said. “Go buy your own. I’m not supporting your habit anymore.”

“What’s wrong with you, man?”

“Nothing,” I said, getting up from the stoop and putting my cigarette out on the sidewalk. “You’re a broken record on this subject. Basically, you’re a pain in the ass.”

Kris just looked at me when I turned and went back inside my apartment building. When I got back inside my apartment, I sat down at my writing desk and thought about Kris for maybe two minutes.

I’m kind of interested why he broke his probation and what the original charge was but I’m not opening that can of worms and that’s exactly what it would be with Kris. As far as no longer giving him cigarettes—flat out telling him that this little gift to him was now over—was a relief. I no longer had to lie.

From that point on, my morning got better. I no longer was a grump or a crab. I no longer than to worry about letting my guard down in front of Kris.

You know, it’s true. The truth shall set you free.

(Image from gifbin.com)

What I Do With Dirty Rice

I don’t claim to be the world’s greatest cook or even Covington, Kentucky’s greatest cook, but I like to play around with cooking. I figure it’s better than eating frozen dinners which I’m trying to get out of the habit of.

Let me tell you what I do with a box of Zatarain’s Dirty Rice Mix.

The instructions on the box says to “Lightly brown 1 pound of ground beef” on my stove top and then drain. I don’t do that.

I lightly brown two J.T.M. Beef Hoagie Patties. I think they taste better. I then cut the hoagies up into small pieces.

Keep in mind I never measure anything. I cut up some green pepper, white onion and fresh mushrooms.

Following the instructions on the box, I bring that water to a boil in my saucepan, then I add the dirty rice, chopped up hoagies, green pepper, white onion and fresh mushrooms to it.

I stir it up a little bit, bring it to another boil, then cover the saucepan turning the heat down to low. After 25 minutes, it’s done. I get about two meals out of it.

I want to think I’m eating healthy here. If I’m not, please don’t tell me.

(Image from coupondad.com)

Paul Ryan: Depressing?

It’s a well known fact by now that Mitt Romney has picked Wisconsin Congressman Paul Ryan as his running mate in his bid to be President of the United States. I’m sure most of you know me well enough by to know this news didn’t do much for me. I think the choice of Ryan, just like with Romney, is basically boring.

The Jezebel blog put up an interesting post late last week entitled “9 Depressingly Kooky Facts About Paul Ryan.”  In case you want to get depressed or feel Kooky, you can read it right here.

I’m not feeling depressed or kooky about Ryan. His stand on global warming doesn’t surprise me and his wanting to handle Medicare with coupons is typical Ryan, but his ideas about writer Ayn Rand are a bit surprising.

Rand had her own view on the world, that’s for sure, but she’s better known for her novels “Atlas Shrugged” and “Fountainhead.” I’ve read both books and enjoyed them—but they are works of fiction. How Ryan thinks they can apply to real life is strange to me.

Something else I want to say about Rand is that she was an atheist. I don’t have a problem with that, but Ryan had better figure out a way to deal with this fact when he’s out on the campaign trail. This isn’t going to play well in the heartland.

In wrapping this up, my take on Ryan? He’s not progressive, he’s backward. And for the record, I don’t think he looks like Eddie Munster.

(Photo from infowars.com)