My First Fight

My First Fight

Second grade. His name was Marvin. He was in first grade but he was my age. He either failed or was held back or started late. And no, I don't remember who won.

Actually, Marvin wasn't my first fight. I've got studio-made pictures from pre-school of me sporting a blond bowl cut and a bloody nose. Obviously there was a fight involved but I don't remember it. So it doesn't count.

The fight with Marvin I halfway remember. It happened on the playground during recess and neither of us suffered any scrapes or bruises. After she broke it up, Mrs. Mims sent us to the principal's office. Nowadays, that's no big deal but back then it was super scary. This was when spanking with a paddle was not only condoned, it was highly endorsed.

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Alone In A Movie Theater

Alone In A Movie Theater

You know what's great about a weekday matinee movie? Not only is it cheaper but every once in a while, you can get the whole place to yourself.

It's not much different from being at home. Except for the gum stuck to the chair. And the overpriced food. And the inability to pause for bathroom breaks. And thirty minutes of previews you can't fast forward through.

There are some plusses though. For a well-produced sci-fi movie with lots of special effects, you can't beat the huge screen and surround sound and the cinematic experience it all provides. You have to turn off your mobile so no one can bother you and you don't fee the least bit guilty about doing it. And sometimes the previews are pretty good but I find lately that more times than not, they've gotten out of hand with actual commercials thrown into the mix. I didn't pay to see commercials.

As for the over-priced food, I always stop by the dollar store and grab some snacks to sneak in. If their food wasn't marked up 300%, I wouldn't go to the trouble. Paying a buck for a big box of milk duds is so much more fun than paying $2 for a small box.

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America The Slob

America The Slob

It disgusts me. The litter I see on the side of the road. Potato chip bags, aluminum cans, candy wrappers. You name it, Americans throw it out their car windows instead of simply dropping it into a trash can.

Not only is it infuriating to me, it's sad. Down right pathetic. To think the country that enjoys the highest standard of living the world has ever seen can't take the time to pick up after itself.

It's enough to make a grown man whine on the internet.

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Salmon Treats Anyone?

Salmon Treats Anyone?

It was many years ago on a Christmas Eve that my Aunt Pat did something none of us have ever let her forget. On a dare, she ate a cat treat, one of those little soft chewy ones that come in the resealable foil Ziploc packs. I think it was salmon flavor.

First, a little background. In the family, I was known as the cheapskate. If there were any penny pincher jokes, they were always aimed at me. And Aunt Pat was the butt of all the blonde jokes, despite being a natural brunette and never having had anything close to blonde hair. She had that dingy thing going pretty good though.

A few of us were sitting around the table, playing games, because that's what my family does on Christmas Eve. We gather about thirty family members in a single house, eat like Southerners at a Sunday dinner, open presents, and play games till time to head home and get ready for Santa.

I'm not sure how it came up, but I think I was giving one of our cats a cat treat when Pat said something like, "I wonder how those taste?"

A light bulb went on. "Why don't you try one?" I asked.

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Stealing Our Tennis

Stealing Our Tennis

I was hanging out with a bunch of guys watching the US Open on television the other week. We were watching the women's game (no comment) between Venus Williams and Jelena Jankovic when one of the guys said, "Man, I'm getting tired of all these foreigners coming over here and stealing our sports."

I looked over at him but said nothing. He continued, "When they gonna learn tennis is our sport and we're the best at everything."

That prompted me to say something derogatory. "John," I said, "please stop being such a redneck."

He looked at me in a redneck way, throwing out redneck vibes in waves, then said, "What're you talkin' about?"

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The Deal Breaker

The Deal Breaker

I had a once in a lifetime deal pass my way the other day and I felt the need to tell you about it. If you had a chance to make forty to fifty thousand dollars flipping a house, wouldn't you be excited too?

A tenant my bosses are about to evict dropped by the office to explain why she hadn't paid rent. She had two houses that had been given to her that she'd been working a deal on. The deal fell apart, blamed on all the recent mortgage companies going under. She was in dire straits and was about to lose her car also, a fifty thousand dollar Range Rover.

Huh?

And to top it off, she had surgery two weeks ago. A boob job. Serious guys, I can't write stuff this good. All I do is spit it out as it happens.

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I Am Native American

I Am Native American

I was born in America. I was raised in America. I possess a distinctly American belief system. Therefore I'm a Native American by all sense of the term, right? Then why am I supposed to check Caucasion White on all those damn government forms?

What they mean by Native American is obviously the race of people who were here before Columbus screwed their lives up or some guy named Amerigo Vespucci won the naming pool. We call them the American Indian, even though Columbus missed India by about 10,000 miles.

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