There are so many things that Tennessee has going for it. There is Nashville with country songs to make you laugh, cry and drink lots of beer. There is the Jack Daniel’s distillery in Lynchburg, where you can take tours of the most famous of the Tennessee whiskies that is made in a dry county. It’s true. You cannot buy Jack Daniel’s products where they are distilled. Still trying to wrap by brain around that one. We even have Beale Street in Memphis where there is some of the world’s best blues and great booze. But let’s be honest and admit that when you think of alcohol and Tennessee, isn’t the first thing think of moonshine? Me neither because I think of Jack’s Old No. 7 first. But after that, moonshine!
There’s an old Irish proverb that says, “May ye be an hour in Heaven ‘fore the Devil knows you’re gone.” There’s a new Dougish proverb that says, “May the Beano be an hour in your system ‘fore the chili dog hits your colon.” I think Tonewould like that one. Perhaps we need to look at some of the best old proverbs that need to have a modern spin.
- To err is human, to forgive requires a dog.
- A Rolling Stone gathers some weed.
- Never say diet!
- Nothing is certain but death, taxes and the fact that there will be a slow driver in the fast lane when you’re late for an appointment for a job interview.
- April showers being flood insurance claims.
- A fool and his money usually means he inherited it.
- The bigger they are, the harder it feels when they land on you.
- The early bird will be singing right outside your window on Saturday morning.
- There is no fool like an old member of Congress.
- A barking dog will bite you between barks.
- Do unto others as you see them doing to the waitress at the Waffle House.
- Rats stay on the cruise ship while the passengers abandon it.
- Fight fire with napalm.
- Finders keepers, losers look futilely in the lost and found.
Sitting in my living room this morning, enjoying a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee, I looked out the window at field beyond my patio to see the winter wonderland that it has become. The snow on the ground and clinging to the trees creates a beauty that mere words cannot express. As I gaze at the tapestry that has appeared yesterday and overnight, I cannot help but be glad I’m not going out in that crap. It looks cold!
Way back in the Stone Age when I was in high school, my sport of choice was swimming. It was a non-contact sport where I didn’t have to worry about someone else swimming into my lane and tackling me. Just for the record, tackling in the water is called drowning. It was great exercise and more fun than any other sport. I was in great shape since I swam several miles a day. The fact that I got to spend every day with fit women in skin-tight lycra swim suits had nothing to do with my decision to join the swim team. It did, however, have something to do with getting me to sign up each year after that and may have had something to do with me begging my parents for prescription goggles. I loved the swim team.
You would have been amazed at the spectacle. The man was floating down the road in what looked to be a kind of meditative state. I had no idea that anyone as – I would like to say big boned but I’d be lying – overweight as he could manage to focus on levitation and momentum. When I looked a little closer I realized that he wasn’t really floating. He was more of a faker and a fakir. This particular example of American excess was actually riding a scooter. A 350 pound man on a scooter is just as impressive to me as a 350 pound man levitating.
The other day I was sitting in my therapist’s office discussing the pros and cons of aardvark juggling and the correlation between the interactions of subatomic particles as they relate to Tom and Jerry when Jerry hit’s Tom in the face with an iron. Oddly, his partners came in and put him in this nice white sport coat with the sleeves that buckle in the back. Why do my therapists always end up like that? Before they took him away to his nice new room with padding on the floors, walls, ceilings and toilet seats, we both agreed that sanity is overrated.
- If you are barking like a Pekinese in heat, people tend to let you have the elevator all to yourself.
- When you show up to weddings wearing a wetsuit and a bowtie, no one complains due to the fear that you will lick their elbows.
- Walking in the convenience store backwards with a potbelly pig under one arm and a coconut in your other hand, they aren’t surprised when you buy all their tapioca and motor oil. They are surprised if you don’t.
- Skipping through a minefield in a pink mini-skirt and a Terminator leather jacket makes the explosions even more entertaining.
- Insanity can help you be more successful in your chosen field of work if you are an executioner, a turkey stuffer or a member of Congress.
- You frequently get to hang out with your former therapist as you compare who has the nicer straightjacket.
Edgar Allan Poe is credited with saying, “Sleep, those little slices of death — how I loathe them.” Poe is one of my favorite authors and I think Eddy is on to something here. Wouldn’t it be cool if we didn’t have to sleep? I think of all the things I could do if I didn’t have to waste six to eight hours a night with my mind wandering about exploring dreams. But then again, my dreams are pretty interesting on the rare occasion I remember them. Makes you wonder what the ones I can’t remember are like, doesn’t it?
I looked outside and saw some pretty white flakes coming down out of the sky. A friend of mine suggested I try dancing in that snow. There are two problems with that. It’s not the dancing part. I took dance lessons to learn how to waltz, tango, foxtrot, rumba, cha-cha, and swing dance. Now I can honestly say I have tried all those dances and know ways to look somewhat graceful while stepping on my partner’s feet.