Bad Drivers

You know who you are. I’m talking to those of you who think you know enough about internal combustion to get behind the wheel of a couple tons of metal, plastic and some other things that I’m not sure have names, and drive on the streets, highways, roads and a few sidewalks. (I saw you, sidewalk-driving lady!) Have you considered the fact that most people think they are above average drivers? That means that above average is now the average which means that those of you who were previously below average are now in the “sucky driver” category and those who refuse to drive are in the “brilliant” category. I’m beginning to think Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory may have a point when he says he is too evolved to drive.

Those who think they are good drivers seem to be the ones who are the worst drivers. I wonder if that means those who think they are not so good drivers may be the ones who really know how to drive. My brain hurts trying to figure it out. Instead, let’s look at a few simple, totally made-up (no matter what my driving record says), examples to help you determine if you are a bad driver, a good driver or an amazing driver.

  • If you have never successfully parallel parked, you are a bad driver.
  • If you have successfully parallel parked on a busy street, you are a good driver.
  • If you have ever parallel parked a bus while juggling hedgehogs on the interstate, you are an amazing driver.


    • If you do not know how to use a turn signal, you are a bad driver, or at least someone who drives in Knoxville.
    • If you use your turn signal when changing lanes, turning, or even before parallel parking, you are a good drive.
    • If you can psychically convey to the four drivers behind you that you are going to go around the block and come back to get the parking place that is about to be vacated by the little, blue-haired lady with the walker, and if any of them try to get it before you get back you will recreate the big truck scene from Road Warrior on them; then you are an amazingly scary driver.


      • If you slam on the brakes a block and a half away because you have no depth perception and thought that red light was right on top of you, then you are a bad driver who probably has several dents in the rear bumper of your car.
      • If you carefully apply the brakes, giving proper stopping distance between you and light, and are careful to not allow any portion of your vehicle to enter the crosswalk, then you qualify for sainthood and should speak to Cardinal Ferrari at the Vatican as soon as possible.
      • If you roar up to the light, skidding to a stop, causing the Boy Scout helping the old man cross the street to break the scout law about being both clean and reverent, then you are an awesome driver who needs to change his tires on a monthly basis.

      I hope these have helped you see where you stand in the spectrum of drivers. Now if you will excuse me, I need to go take a drive in my Vette. Chevettes count as Vettes, right?

      The Sad Can

      I just ate the last few Pringles. Weep with me. It is so sad when you pour those last few crumbs directly from the can into your mouth. It is so funny when you underestimated the number and size of the crumbs and overestimated the size of your mouth. As many of you will be shocked to learn, I did overestimate my big mouth. (Insert your own joke at my expense here.) After filling my mouth to capacity (I know you’re still laughing about that), the crumbs ended up all over my shirt. I did what any other guy would do when there are no women watching. I made a bowl out of my shirt ate the last of the crumbs. Hey, they’re Pringles! You do what you have to do for your favorite chips or crisps or whatever they are. (I suspect they are really made of pig intestines with potato flavoring. Grossed you out, didn’t I? More for me! Muahahahahaha!!)

      That can with the mustached, bow tie-wearing man with the strangely egg-shaped head looks sad to me. Now that really I look at it for the first time, am I the only one who thinks he looks like movie critic Gene Shalit if he wore contacts and shaved his head?

      Anyway, the Pringles man just looks like he has lost his purpose. No more potato products to protect. Just an empty can that no longer has a treasure trove of munchies. Or is it?

      Did you know that a Pringles can has far more uses than you ever imagined? As a kid, my dad and I made a crystal radio out of one. When I say “my dad and I made” what I really mean is he made it and he let me watch so he could tell other people we made it together.

      “Here’s the wire cutters, Dad.”

      “Thanks for the help, Son.”  Was I useful or what?

      Beyond that I Googled “Empty uses”, but by the time I got that far Google had “for an empty Pringles cans” as the first choice. Pinterest has over 1,000 followers for Pringles Craft Cans. Where have I been all this time? I’ve been tossing them in the trash when I could be making them into holders for all kinds of stuff. The ones that looked like Fourth of July firecrackers had my interest until I realized there was no real explosive power in them. Then again, that could be my contribution. Does a Pringles can filled with black powder qualify as a pipe bomb? Since I live in town and the ATF was already at my neighbor’s the other day, I think I’ll skip that one. (Yea, I live in THAT neighborhood.)

      Now that I look it over carefully, the man on the can needs a goatee to go with his mustache. There, now he looks happy. Excuse me but I think he needs a friend. Gotta walk over to the corner market to get an orange can to go with the red. Or clash with the red. Never mind. I tossed it. I just want some more chips. Crisps. Pig intestines. Whatever.

      Airport Apparel – Part Five

      Just when you think you’ve seen it all you are proven wrong. It was a different day in a different airport. Being curious to test my theory of airport apparel in another place, I found myself looking for people who fit into my four categories of “Those I Didn’t Even Notice”, the “Over-Dressed”, the “Under-Dressed”, and the “Nearly Dressed”. As I looked around this new airport I saw many of the people who would quite neatly fit into the first category of those who do not stand out. There were many, many people who would fit into the over-dressed category. I saw more suits and ties than I did at my last insurance conference. (Yes, I have been to one!) No evening dresses per se. I did see some very interesting things that fit into the yet to be mentioned fifth category. I also saw some people wearing some of the most unusual items that can best be described as trash bags. Also there was this one woman wearing a form-fitting body suit with a body that really made it look good. If spandex is a privilege and not a right, she was very privileged! I went to the wrong concourse because of her!

      The new category would probably fit in most major airports; however, this airport was the best for this group. Did I mention where I was? I didn’t? It was a long layover at Washington Dulles International Airport! Oh yeah! I have a long a sordid relationship with this airport. As long as I am not driving away from it or set foot outside of it or have to be there for more than an hour or two, I’m fine with it. It did get me lost one time but that is another story.
      Ok. I won’t make you wait any longer. The new airport apparel is Those Who Are Wearing Things That Are Beyond Anything I Have Ever Imagined! I know what you’re thinking: “With his weird imagination this could be interesting.” I’m hoping you are thinking that because it makes me feel good. Don’t tell me what you’re really thinking. My tender psyche can’t handle the truth some days.
      These people were amazing! Now to be fair, in their home countries I am quite sure they would fit into the Unnoticed Nonsense we have already mentioned. But here?! My thoughts wandered from amused to shocked to confused to be mocked. There was one man who reminded me of every Africa jungle movie I watched in my politically incorrect childhood. He had the headdress made of red cloth towering and covering what must have been a tall afro and the flowing robes of a tribal chieftain. There was something in his nose that looked suspiciously like a human ulna. I suspect he was on his way to congress, the White House or McDonalds. He looked hungry and I got nervous remembering the stories of cannibals from Gilligan’s Island. I hope he made it to Micky-Ds.
      There were several people who looked like they came out of one of Scheherazade’s 1001 tales and, being Washington, they seemed quite normal. Except for this one who didn’t quite get the memo on how to dress in DC. He looked like he had walked out of Aladdin, but he

      didn’t look like Aladdin. It wasn’t his appearance that surprised me, it was his aroma. I do not know when he bathed last. Based on the fumes that seemed to waft off him I theorized it was in the early 90’s. He had a WAKE of humanity behind him creating a dead zone no one dared enter! There was one brave teenage boy who was showing off to his girlfriend and walked into the middle of it. The paramedics were able to revive him two hours later with minimal brain damage. I just caught a glancing blow but it made me wish I had no sense of smell. There are no words that truly explain this odor but if you take a spoiled, raw egg and wrap it around greenish ground beef put it in a bag with some decaying cabbage then leave it a port-a-john in the west Texas sun for 52 days… you still would not come close to the smell. Then I considered the plane he had just been in. That is one 747 that will need to be bleached, cleaned with ammonia and then buried in the place we keep toxic waste.

      The last person I pondered was from Japan. No one has never seen that many vibrant colors in one place! Being I guy I look for red, green, yellow, blue, orange, gray, black and occasionally pink. I do not know what to call some of those colors. Ummmm… hmmmm… bright! Yeah! Bright! This flowing dress had all the colors of the rainbow and every variation of every color in between. There were even a few strands of fabric that drifted into the ultraviolet and infrared spectrums. I think she enjoyed the attention because she was smiling at all the onlookers leering without lechery but with curiosity. It was hypnotic! After watching her pass my thoughts wandered and for some reason I found myself wanting a new PlayStation. Coincidence or the subtly subliminal manipulation? You be the judge.

      Well that is it. I can’t think of anything else that could possible lead to a part six of this quintilogy but I haven’t been in a foreign airport in a while.

      Airport Apparel – Part Four

      “Those Whom I Didn’t Even Notice”, the “Over Dressed” and the “Under Dressed” have all had the chance to be characterized. Now we need to notice those who want to be noticed so much that they forget to finish getting dressed so they fit in the category of the “Nearly Dressed”. Being a red-blooded American man, I do have to admit that I do notice the ladies who dress for sex-ess. I usually don’t spend time looking for those who are dressed like they are going out to pick up men, but sometimes there are situations that cannot be ignored.

      Let me start by saying that I am glad I don’t have daughters. They would have to wear turtlenecks and loose-fitting jeans until they were an age where they wouldn’t look good in anything skimpier. For those of you who have daughters, you have my sympathy. The styles that the young and young at heart wear today are interesting, intriguing, and invisible in some situations. If you remember back in part one, the incident that got me started watching people was a shear blouse on a man. I never saw a shear blouse on a woman that day, but there were a few fashion faux pas that are worthy of comment.
      The one that caught my ear was a conversation between a young woman and a young man.

      The part that I heard was, “Nope. Just this dress, a thong and sandals.” The word “thong” caught my ear. I am always amazed that some people still call flip-flops thongs and wondered why she twice referred to her footwear. As soon as I found the couple in question, I realized they were discussing her attire. Apparently the man was thinking that this should be on “What Not To Wear.” The woman was just amused and tormenting the poor guy. I can verify the thin white dress was backless and her sandals were quite fetching although they were not thongs. I can’t believe that guy got so upset over the fact she can’t properly identify her shoes.

      The next nearly undressed person I saw was sort of wearing a type of tube top. Now this tube top had a cord that went around the back of the neck to help hold it in place. Don’t misunderstand my critique. I have nothing against tube tops. In some venues, like NASCAR races, they are the recognized and required uniform for female fans. Some women can make a tube top work. Others are not able to make a tub top function right. This young woman was truly blessed in a couple of areas. That particular blessing made a cute little tube top a little too little to cover the essentials. It just didn’t work for me. She had to pull up the offending article a total of fourteen times from the time she entered my field of vision to the time she left. O.K. Maybe it was closer to four. But you’ve got to admit that is one pull every four seconds. Perhaps a tube top with built in underwear, with an under wire, and several other gravity defying feats of engineering that would make Howard Hughes proud, would be a bit more appropriate.
      There were also several proudly plunging necklines all around as many displayed cleavage that could not possibly be natural. That’s right. These were all man-made fabrics that obviously do not stand up to the rigors of everyday wear and tear, and had begun to disintegrate near the top center of these shirts. I don’t think we can blame these poor unfortunate women for this questionable quality.

      Now that I have shared with you the inappropriate airport apparel I hope that has enlightened you for future flights. Even if it hasn’t help you, I had fun watching all of them.

      Airport Apparel – Part Three

      In this investigative series on the fashions foibles found in our flight facilities, we have ignored “Those Whom I Didn’t Even Notice” and over-analyzed the “Over Dressed.” Now let’s take a queasy look at those who don’t know the difference between airport apparel and clothing to which Goodwill would say good riddance. I am talking about the “Under Dressed.”

      We’ve all been there. I can’t tell you how many times I have been invited to a fancy dinner party and have shown up wearing cut-offs, tank top and a do-rag. I can’t tell you that because I never get invited fancy dinner parties. It may have something to do with the do-rag but I’m not sure. There is a big difference between what you wear to mow the lawn and what you wear as you travel on a plane…for most of us. Then there are those referred to by Jeff Foxworthy as having a “glorious absence of sophistication.” Yes, I refer to the rednecks among us. I have some members of my family who could qualify for Rednecks Anonymous based on that definition. You have to admire someone who can dress like Larry the Cable Guy and not feel self-conscious.
      Since I had the opportunity to revel in my ADD nature and watch those who were meandering, merging and marching past the airport lounge, it was inevitable that a few less than savory individuals would be wayward wanders. I think I saw Larry the Cable Guy’s sister. She had a shirt with the sleeves cut off. I’m not talking about a sleeveless shirt. This was a shirt that had the sleeves severed with a dull, rusty machete. It was not the most attractive look for this particular (and I use this word loosely) lady. There is something to be said for Daisy Duke cutoffs. Yes, she was wearing a pair of these very short shorts. Catherine Bach or Jessica Simpson can make those work. Many of the women passing by that day could make them work. Wearing Daisy Dukes was probably not the most fashion conscious move that woman could have made since she had never used a razor on her legs. Indiana Jones with a machete may have been able to trim the gore on these gams, but I don’t think he would be brave enough to try! (I know you don’t believe me on this one and I wish I’d had a camera on my phone to prove it.)
      Since this was a Southern airport, I expected to find even more people dressed like that Daisy Duke wannabe. Surprisingly, it was difficult to find anyone like the previous woman. I knew that no one would be able to under-dress her. (I wish hadn’t tried to create the particular mental image. Nightmares again tonight!) Just as I was giving up, I saw something that made me do a double take, triple take, and even a quadruple take. Then I just stared with a look on my face that said, “This can’t be real.” I’m not sure what happened to this poor, pathetic, shell of a man. My best guess is that an airplane toilet suffered an extreme malfunction. He was blue. I’m not referring to his mental state (although it would be an accurate assessment). His clothing was splattered with some kind of blue dye like the kind you see when you flush one of the toilets on a plane. Any other day, this man would have easily fit into the nondescript first group of people. Today, he was the star of the “Under Dressed” stage. Let’s call him Mark.
      I have an image of Mark’s maltreatment in the presence of a perturbed potty. After one too many of the complementary drinks offered on every flight except the ones I choose to fly, Mark feels the bulging of his bladder that cannot wait for a happy landing. He then excuses himself as he climbs from his window seat over the two others in his row. Not expecting any problems, Mark takes a less than leisurely stroll to the front of the plane where the lightly lit vacancy sign offers a glorious glow. Imagine the relief on his face as his business is completed. The subtle smile begins to grow as he (imagine the theme from Jaws – da dump, da dump) reaches for the handle. Nothing happens. (Now imagine an ominous silence.) He does what anyone would have done in the same situation. When the toilet doesn’t work, jiggle the handle.
      Amazingly, for the remainder of the sold-out flight he gets a row all to himself. There are people sitting on laps all over the plane in an attempt to avoid contact with this blue skinned leper. The jiggling of a handle in a pressurized cabin with high velocity blue cleansing liquid can have some fascinating effects. As the liquid squirts out, it needs a place to go. If the bottom section of the toilet is somehow jammed shut (I don’t even like to consider how that could happen), there is only one way for the liquid to go – UP! Mark is now marked for as long as that blue dye lasts.

      And I thought airports were boring. Next time we’ll take a look, so to speak, at the “Nearly Dressed”.

      Airport Apparel – Part Two

      Last time we chatted I brought up the subject of the clothing people wear as they walk, jog, run or make a manic march through an airport. If you haven’t read Part One yet, you may want to start there. It won’t help you make sense of this one but at least you will be reading them in the correct order.

      Last time I told you about looking at people in airports. Most fit into the first category of “Those Whom I Didn’t Even Notice.” Since I didn’t notice them, I can’t really think of anything to write. So let’s keep ignoring them and move on to the next group called the “Over Dressed.” I have flown many times in my life and have even flown from the United States to Europe and back. Even though I am not an everyday or everyweek flier, I do have some experience. That experience has taught me a few critical criteria for fun filled flying. The most important is that airplanes, for all their wonders, are not all that comfortable for those of us who fly back in 7th class. This is just a little bit better than the luggage. Since most of us do not get to fly in first or even business class there is a requirement that we dress accordingly. (Or is that accordianly since you get folded up as you try to squeeze a 73” body into a seat designed to comfortably fit preschoolers). The rule for most of us is to dress for distress. Simple and comfortable is the rule.
      You can probably imagine my surprise when I saw a couple who were dressed as if they were going to the Opera. The woman was wearing an evening gown that had all kinds of sparkly things. This attractive, middle aged woman was casually strolling down the center of the concourse as if she were on a runway in Paris instead of near a runway in Charlotte. The man walking nearby was well dressed, too (although he didn’t have sparkly things) with a look on his face that was somewhere between the pain associated with a root canal and the discomfort of extreme constipation. It is the same look I would have on my face if I was forced to go the opera. I can only assume this overdressed couple was planning to watch a live version “The Barber of Seville” as they sipped Napoleon brandy in the Deluxe, Royal Treatment, You-May-Not-Even-Look-Past-the-Curtain, First Class cabin.
      There was another woman who seemed to be either lost, nervous or putting on a show. She passed by my table five times as if she wanted all of us in the lounge to notice that she had on Versace, Armani and Gucci and a few other expensive-looking, Italian-sounding names. I guess it worked because I noticed. She was almost as good looking as her designer clothing. Sadly, I think she took the Tammy Faye Baker Home Cosmetics Course when it came to makeup choices and amounts. I really expected small children to run in fear from the makeup monster as she meandered. There was the one young teen who – I could see it in his eyes – was considering the consequences of carving his initials in the base on her face. Overdressed and over makeuped.
      I saw countless suits and business attire that I personally would not wear on a plane; but I suppose those business people needed to make a good impression. Even though they were not technically “Over Dressed” they did have my sympathy until I remembered how much more leg room they get in Business Class. And don’t even get me started on how much more butt room they get! They get the better food too! It serves them right having to wear those suits on those long flights. On second thought, they are “over dressed”.

      Next time we will look at the “Under Dressed”.

      Airport Apparel – Part One

      Some time ago I had the astonishing opportunity to sit around an airport for what seemed like three weeks. Really it was only three hours; but those of you who’ve had a long layover know what I’m talking about. You can only make so many laps around the terminal before you are arrested in this post-911 world. When the TSA agents started pointing at me and murmuring into walkie-talkies that was my cue to sit back and have a refreshing adult beverage and try to read my book. Normally this would be no problem. Beer and a Patrick McManus book is as close to heaven on earth that can be achieved while sitting in an airport waiting for your next flight. Then my ADD kicked into high gear.

      This time I have to say it wasn’t my fault…mostly. I was sitting outside the airport “lounge” when I was distracted. By the way, the only people I ever see lounging in these airport BARS are people who have had too many mojitos while jet lagged. Anyway, I was sitting there, minding my own business or at least minding my book, when a flash of fabric caught my eye. It was one of those shear blouses like Bridget Jones wore to catch Hugh Grants eye. Of course I averted my eyes. I cannot be blamed if the blouse happened to be moving in the same direction as my averting eyes. It was at this point that I noticed that this shear blouse was the only upper apparel being worn! That would have been even more to my amazement had it been on someone of the female persuasion. Alas, it was not meant to be. The guy did manage to pull off the look as well as any guy could.  
      My book was set aside for the actual flight as I began a casual course of people perusal. Honestly, I was looking for the most interesting people I could see. Dressed as I was in black jeans and my Benjamin Franklin beer t-shirt, I felt fairly nondescript. I faded into the woodwork – or metal-work at this airport – and began to make mental notes of the most curiously dressed of all the passersby.
      They fit into four categories. The first is what I affectionately refer to as “Those Whom I Didn’t Even Notice.” They were a lot like me. They were wearing something that was appropriate. To be honest, most of the people fit into this category. I would glance at the millions milling past and not even notice the dull, drab and dreary decor they dared to don. If you were one of those people, I apologize for not noticing your nondescript nature; however, I wouldn’t have even noticed myself.

      The other three categories are where it gets interesting. The second I named the “Over Dressed.” The third group is for those who were “Under Dressed.” And then there was the fourth which will have to be called “Nearly Dressed.” Tune in next time those who look way too good to be crammed into an airplane.

      Around the Block

      If you’ve read my blog you know that there seems to be no end to the topics upon which I can pontificate; but even I get writer’s block upon occasion. Finding a way around a blocked situation is something that I am notorious for doing. It is easier to ask forgiveness than beg permission. Or another way, in business classes they taught us that management is the art of working with, through and sometimes around others. Going around a road block is not a problem in most situations. But writing is different.

      If I let my mind wander and see where it takes me then my A.D.D. kicks in. Watching the fire with the flames licking the fake logs makes me think of camp fires and campers and towing the camper and tow ropes of skiers to snow skiing to near death experiences while snow skiing to finding missing snow skiers to Saint Bernard’s with barrels of brandy to cherry brandy to cherry liquors to liquor stores to driving home from a liquor store to driving using a GPS to listening to the GPS tell you where to drive to using a female British voice on the GPS to British accents to Australian accents to Australia to the Great Barrier Reef to reef diving to sky diving to flying to jets to the Concord to condors to dodo birds to cuckoo birds to cuckoo clocks to grandfather clocks back to the fireplace that is three feet away from the clock. Even people with A.D.D. get back around to the original topic again. And no I did not plan that out. That is how my mind works when I let it wander. I’m just glad it came back.

      Maybe writer’s block isn’t quite so bad.

      Who is That Strange Guy?

      Last night I went for a walk downtown. Knoxville has many places that are fun and safe after dark. My choice was Market Square. For those of you who do not know, it is a block of stores and restaurants that has no street to get in the way. Yep, drivers have to find another way to get to the other side. It is a cool place to hang out and watch people.

      Yes, I am a people watcher. Last night I watched a lot of people with my notebook in hand. Oh the sights, sounds and smells I discovered. It seems only right that I share the writer’s perspective on a warm evening in Knoxville.

      • A couple was sitting in the outdoor seating of a restaurant. This looked to me like a first date because the woman was trying to get the man to look at her cleavage. Then she got made when he did. Been there. Done that. Looked down the t-shirt.
      • The strong smell of a cigarette invaded my nostrils as a man was puffing away on his Camel passing by, oblivious to the disgust on the face of woman walking with him. At least he didn’t fart.

      • There was a group of twenty-something guys walking along, looking at the woman who had been trying to get her date to notice her low cut shirt. They also noticed a guy sitting alone at a picnic table writing in a notebook. Once they passed by, one asked if they thought the man was writing about them. I was after they said that.


        • A bird was chattering overhead, obviously upset by the invasion of humans into this domain it had claimed as its own. I was hoping it was going to dive bomb someone. That would be really hilarious as long it was not me.


            • A woman sat off to the side, watching the people passing by, wanting solitude while still having the company of others. Or was that my reflection in a store window?


              • A face appeared in a second story window, disappearing as soon as someone noticed. It was either a kidnap victim, a shy person who wanted to look out a window, or a master spy seeking the sleeper cell of the Latverian death squad. Wait, that last one was from a comic book.

              This are just my observations. I wonder what they were really doing.

              Do You Like Squid, Too?

              It was a sad day around my house when the announcement was made. Sponge Bob was cancelled. The celebration went on for hours! We were sad that we ran out of ice for the margaritas. Then the news came in that it was all just another internet rumor. We continued drinking without the ice at that news. On the bright side, Squidward is safe from the hands of sushi chefs throughout the land for at least one more season.

              After careful research that I made up just now, there is a conspiracy theory that the word sushi has a hidden meaning in Japanese that is unknown outside the confines of the Land of the Rising Run. The Oxford Dictionary defines sushi as “a Japanese dish consisting of small balls or rolls of vinegar-flavored cold cooked rice served with a garnish of raw fish, vegetables, or egg.” A simpler definition says that it means “sour tasting”. The secret hidden meaning according to the conspiracy theorists in my head is defined as follows: “Stupid American who actually ate the raw fish!” I must admit to being a stupid American, but that has nothing to do with the fact I like raw fish with my rice. My stupidity is all my own.

              My favorite sushi place is right down the road from me. It has tasty rice (tasty is code for “vinegary”), shrimp tempura (which as far as I can tell means “deep fried”), seared tuna (it is seared with a tiny flame thrower), snow crab (that is fresh enough to walk off the roll), salmon (pretty, pink and cold) and crunchy. I have no idea what the crunchy is and I am too scared to ask. Sometimes you’re better off not knowing what is on the plate.

              The sushi chef there has some special rolls that he makes for those of us who are stupid enough to come around often. There is one that he had on the special board a couple years ago called a Chocolate City Roll. I have no idea why it is called that. There is absolutely no chocolate in it. It has shrimp and crab and tuna and avocado and rice and some sauces that I also have no idea what they are. It is very tasty for a combination of cooked shellfish and raw regular fish.

              Now I want you to know that here in east Tennessee we do have some cooked sushi for the barbarians (read that as “smart”) among us who prefer their fish cooked. There is this one restaurant that serves stuff that is similar to the crunchies found in my favorite sushi place rolled in a ball and deep fried. I think it’s called a hushpuppy. They also serve their fish batter-dipped and deep fried. Hey, it’s east Tennessee. What did you expect? That particular place is named after a great literary character from Robert Louis Stevenson’s writings.


              Let’s make a deal. I won’t bug you to eat raw fish if you don’t bug me about eating raw fish. Now let’s talk about the real meaning in the word sashimi…