In which Tavin mentions my tweet on the Twitter

Hey look!

I won me a copy of Milktose Analogy & 88 Other Things Tavin Dillard Said.

And a mention by the author, Tavin Dillard himself.

Happy Friday! Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

(Memaw would want you to keep those tresses clean and silky.)

Fueled by irony

One of my dear readers remarked last week -- after I posted this post -- how cheap the gas prices are where I live, as opposed to where she lives.

They've gone down at least twenty-three cents per gallon since then.

Who would ever have thought gas at three sixteen nine would sound like a bargain?

Back when everything was Bush's fault, gasoline was under two dollars per gallon.

And who would ever have thought the mindless cult of personality could extend to plastering the name and gloating mug of a classic far-left radical liberal tax-and-spend champagne socialist president on the marquee of a filling station?

Makes me think, if I had a president, he just might look like Mitt Romney.

And no. That gas station is not in my neighborhood! I was passing through.

Happy Wednesday!

We'll never live it down so we lived it up

Guess what?

I and two of my ghouls girls made our way to Atlanta last Saturday to attend Tunes From the Tombs at Historic Oakland Cemetery.

Oakland is the final resting place of acclaimed southern author Margaret Mitchell.

That's right! I stood at the grave of the woman who wrote Gone With The Wind, then died at the age of forty-eight after being struck by a drunken Atlanta taxi driver while crossing the street.

GWTW, first published in 1936, consistently polls as Americans' favorite book of all time save only one: The Holy Bible.

There were other delights in and around Oakland, such as Bob Seymore, billed as Statuary ... Where Illusion Comes to Life.

Bob was very sweet and friendly.

And there was Deacon, the Hungarian Vizsla, who was also very sweet and friendly, and I imagine just as warm.

Of course, there were angels, such as this one pleading from a pillow.

And the aforementioned grave of Margaret Mitchell.

People performed in and around the tombs. These two moppets had just sung Somewhere Over the Rainbow.

Erica appeared charmed by the whole experience.

We had a fantastic lunch across the street at Six Feet Under, which is to a frightening degree about nasty beer but which was close by and has a menu that's to die for.

As we headed in that direction, a group named The Serenaders, performing on the Scoutmob stage, was cleverly crooning Stayin' Alive.

Not in the disco beat normally associated with the tune, but in more like a waltz tempo. You could actually understand the words:

Whether you're a mother or whether you're a brother
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive ...

Apparently not, if the demise of Robin Gibb this very weekend is any indication. RIP! Only one BeeGee left.

Moving along, here are our six feet under. The table.

Erica did not paint her toenails. I had flowers on my flip-flops and a pedicure. Audrey wore her Steve Madden jellies in Smoke. Her toes were pinky-coral but hiding.

I do not mean to imply that Audrey has anything whatsoever in common with a big crab.

It was a grand time, a dreamy time for a taphophile -- and a city girl into the bargain -- like me. Pale tombs floating in the sky, the beautiful skyscrapers of Atlanta serving as a shimmering backdrop.

Here are the rest of the pictures! If you double-click on the slideshow, it will take you to SmugMug where you can see them somewhat better.

Happy Monday! Happy Week!

Biggest roadblock I ever seen in the sodey-pop aisle

According to Tavin, when you see crazy, just take it one level higher in crazy.

This has always been my philosophy.

I and my kinfolk look forward to seeing Tavin LIVE at The Channel.

221 North Main Street, Greenville, South Carolina

Friday, June 8, 2012

Come and join us! Meanwhile:

Happy Friday! ~ Happy Weekend!

Even if you prefer them raw

Happy Wednesday!

Post-commencement exercises

As the theme song from The Poseidon Adventure insisted in the '70s, there's got to be a morning after.

Ours was rather wonderful.

I speak of the morning following Andrew's graduation.

Last Tuesday morning, to be exact.

After a relatively decent night of rest (I rarely sleep well in hotels, no matter how comfortable, and yes I remembered my pillow) I got my coffee and put in a call to the graduate.

"I need me some Rambo," I said.

Andrew chuckled. Rambo had managed to get "into something" out at the camp where they live and he was not as squeaky clean and fragrant as Andrew likes.

He'd been trying all morning to arrange an appointment with a groomer to give Ramby a proper bath, but nothing doing.

Nobody could squeeze him in until at least noon, or else Thursday.

Neither would do so Andrew sprayed Ramby-Wamby with some coconutty-smelling stuff and brought him on up to the room.

We had ourselves a happy time of reunion and Rambunctious seemed to enjoy the view from the eleventh-floor windows.

After about an hour of pure Rambo delight, Stephanie, Joel, and the kids joined us.

"He's ticked off," Stephanie said of little Andrew.

And he did appear a trifle nonplussed, wedged as he was into his regulation infant carrier.

Thinking him to be overwarm, we freed him, changed his outfit, and let him sit on the sofa.

First we had to make Ramby move.

Which seemed to tick him off.

Rambo proved to be a strong attraction for Melanie, who couldn't keep her hands and face off him even though she is allergic to animal dander.

It was a regular love-in.

 Much like Rambo is a Melanie magnet, Baby Andrew is an Allissa magnet.

She hauls him around like he's a sackful of potatoes.

At one point he looked up as if to say, "Help me!"

I was laughing so hard the picture is blurry, so I'm not showing it to you.

Finally she got him semi-situated and commenced kissing him tenderly, over and over.

I don't blame her. Some good sugar there.

Soon enough we all had to go our separate ways. TG, Erica, and I were fortunate enough to be expected for lunch at Grey Havens, the beautifully appointed cottage of Mr. Jim and Miz Donna of Cottage Days & Journeys.

Do you remember a few months ago when Donna blogged about this recipe?

Well. That's what Mr. Jim made for us. Along with black-iron-skillet cornbread that he insisted wasn't up to snuff because of some issue with the cornmeal that was available to him.

But he was wrong. It was perfectly wonderful and so was the coleslaw chicken salad and the divine sweet tea with which we washed it all down.

Then we had a splendid time "talking camera" and I learned a great deal. These two are unforgettable, irreplaceable, and completely invaluable to me.

Thanks again, my friends.

~*~

Several of you have asked about the award Andrew received at graduation.

Our son was the recipient of the David Childers Servant's Heart Award.

David Childers, a Crown College student who was a member of Audrey's class and was one of her buddies, was killed on June 4, 2004 along with four others as they were en route to sing and minister at a church in Jupiter, Florida.

A semi tractor-trailer crossed the center line of a two-lane highway shortly after three o'clock in the afternoon on that Friday, the day before President Reagan died.

David and his friends were killed instantly when their van was hit head-on and burst into flames. The victims ranged in age from eighteen to twenty-two and included a couple married less than a year.

The award meant a lot because David Childers was a precious and sincere young man, and so is Andrew. For all his imperfections, he truly does have a servant's heart.

I thank God for him, and for my three daughters, every day.

Happy Monday ~ Happy Week!

Under the circumstances I would call it more romp than pomp

I mean, who likes pomposity?

Not me. I've had my fill of it and want no more.

Although I do cop to a fondness for the odd special occasion fraught with ceremony and ritual and all that rot.

So it was for Andrew's graduation.

Poor kid, the last of four, we were having difficulty locating our full measure of enthusiasm for all the rigmarole.

But then it was the day and we woke up hopeful and got ourselves put together and went out for a late lunch.

First though, we had a visit from Lady Vol Natalie Pluskota of Newnan, Georgia, top-ranked tennis player at the University of Tennessee (or she was until she graduated on May 9th).

You may remember me telling you a few weeks ago that Andrew had met Natalie at a Bible study and they played a few sets of tennis together, and she beat him and he didn't mind at all.

Well, she's a living doll and she drove the few blocks from the UT campus to our hotel and brought autographed posters for TG and Andrew, and talked with us for awhile about her plans for the future.

She'll be traveling a lot and playing a great deal of tennis. Like, around the world. That's all I know.

By the time Natalie had to scoot, Audrey had finished her half-day at work and joined us for a Pirate Party at Calhoun's on the River. My centerpiece was from Dollar Tree.

We sat out on the sunporch with unobstructed views of the beautifully vintage Gay Street Bridge.

A few hundred yards away loomed the barely-bones Henley Street Bridge, which is undergoing some pretty heavy renovations.

Once years ago I saw a jumper rescued from that bridge. True story.

Baptist Hospital, most of which is all but falling into the river, sits directly across from Calhoun's. See the rotunda over on the left? Everything to the right of that is deserted.

The defunct buildings give off a distinctly Stephen King-ish air.

Audrey was hungry. She and I are almost always hungry. Chowhounds, as it were.

Erica was anxious for vittles too. Don't you think she looks sort of goth, even in white? Click to embiggen because that's what you must do in order to appreciate her eyes.

Man-of-the-hour Andrew was glad to be neither in class nor at work.

TG drank a gallon of fizzy Coke because he was thirsty and it took forever to get our food. But when it arrived, it was outstanding.

At Calhoun's, always have the Spinach Maria. No matter what you get to go with it.

Then it started raining like you wouldn't believe and we enjoyed that for awhile, being seated right in the window on the river, but soon enough it was time to leave and get ready for graduation.

I found Andrew out in the hallway and then I went to my seat, which was in the very back row of an auditorium that holds three thousand people.

But I liked it that way because as I said, my enthusiasm for this kind of thing has ebbed considerably. Besides, how else would I have gotten this shot? That's Andrew, the cute one all the way through the door.

Andrew received a very special award during the commencement and we were not expecting that at all, and it was a moment. TG and I both cried. Trust me, it was warranted. Both the award and our tears.

Next thing I knew, Audrey was coming toward me (she had been seated nearby) to say that the two students she has tutored throughout this school year were there. So of course I had to go out into the lobby and meet them.

Aren't they cute? Audrey loves being their tutor. She is certified in Teaching English as a Second Language.

Then I went back inside and before long, Andrew had received his diploma. Eventually, the commencement exercises were concluded and three thousand people were milling about.

Andrew was congratulated by various attractive females.

Papaw got hold of Alllissa and they were soon deep in conversation.

Uncle and nephew were introduced at last. Stephanie is saying to her brother Andrew, who is listening, about her son Andrew, who is bawling: "He doesn't like to be held like a newborn."

Ah! That is ever so much better. No more loud, moist objections. Kid wants to see what's going on around him, is all.

Andrew squared.

Then the robe came off and that was our signal to disband.

You! Time to get serious about higher education.

><><><><><>+++<><><><><><

Congratulations, Andrew!

If I wanted America to fail, I'd keep right on doing what I was doing if I were the devil

I hope you'll take five minutes of your valuable time and watch this video, made in recent months.

Then I'd ask you to take three minutes and watch this one, using the words of Paul Harvey recorded in 1965.

Good day!