Head Scatchers’ Forum

Inspired by recent posts from Traveling Chica and Renee, I am proud to present Bone’s First Annual Head Scratchers’ Forum. A place you can come to discuss those inexpicable, unusable gifts you may have received this year. It sort of combines the Airing of Grievances part of Festivus with the crappy gifts aspect of Christmas.

Almost all of us receive at least a gift or two each year which leaves us scratching our heads. Gifts that make us say things like, “You really shouldn’t have. No, really.”

Gifts from friends that cause us to reconsider our life choices. Gifts from parents that leave us wondering if our real parents were abducted by aliens without our knowledge and replaced by alien clones. Because the people who raised us for eighteen years would surely have some clue as to our likes, dislikes, and interests. Or at the very least, our age.

Here now, for your enjoyment, are a couple of my head scratchers for 2006:

“Cool! It’s a keychain that’s also a flashlight! What will they think of next?” Because sticking a real flashlight in the glove box is just too difficult. And also because I LOVE carrying large, hard cylindrical shaped things in my pockets.

“Wow! It’s a Scooby Doo… candy dispenser… which turns into a piggy bank when you’re done with the candy!” Ruh Roh Shaggy, I think I lost it already.

“Oh my, a magnetic dartboard.” Because I’m 33, and evidently not old enough to be trusted with real darts. Or even the pointy plastic ones with the tiny holes all over the board.

“Ooo, regular fit, straight leg jeans!” Just like they wore in the early nineties! Uh, you know what. Actually, do you have a receipt for these? I have a sneaking suspicion already that these aren’t going to fit.

“Aww, it’s a… Christmasy… wooden… decorative… thingy. How did you know I collect these?!” I’m gonna put this up right now before I break it… on purpose. I’ll put it right beside all the others. In the back of my closet.

So what gifts did you get this year that left you scratching your head? Share them here. Without fear of repercussions or persecution. We’re more likely to sympathize with you.

And keep in mind my motto before you buy someone a $10 or $20 crap gift that they’re only going to throw away, bury in a closet somewhere, or regift:

Cash. It’s underrated as a gift. This public service announcement brought to you by Bone. A proud user of cash since 1977.

“Return to sender. Address unknown…”

3 Word Wedesday #16

This is Wednesday, isn’t it? The holidays have my mental calendar screwed up.

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Snapped
Hill
Leather

Tony Culver was a bully. He was mean. His family was mean. And everyone knew it. Unfortunately, my grandma lived on the side of Culver Hill, home to every Culver in Clarke County.

My grandma’s house was the first house you came to once you left the paved road. After that, the gravel road twisted upward until it disappeared into trees and shadows. My uncle had driven me about half a mile up the road one time to someone’s house he knew. Other than that, I’d never ventured past grandma’s driveway.

Even the cops were afraid to go up on Culver Hill. At least that’s what my nine-year-old mind believed. Of course, I also believed my mother was fourteen at the time. And I was more than a little afraid that a watermelon might be growing inside me at that very moment.

On this particular day, my cousin Brian, two years my junior, and I were throwing rocks from my grandma’s driveway towards the gravel road that wound up the hill. A favorite pasttime of ours, that we sometimes got in trouble for, although I was never quite sure why. There wasn’t much to hit besides trees, the air pipe on top of grandma’s storm shelter, and more trees.

We stopped when we saw an old, rusty Ford truck creeping up the gravel road. The driver was eyeing us. At least that’s what I imagined.

“That’s Old Man Culver,” Brian said, as we both almost subconsciously scooted a few steps closer to grandma’s porch.
“I know,” I answered, wide-eyed.
“Did you know he beats his kids with a big leather horse whip,” Brian stated more than asked, as our eyes remained glued to the old pickup.
“Does not!” I snapped. I had asked my Dad about the horse whip and he said it wasn’t true.
“Does too!”
“How do you know?” I was easily convinced.
“Daddy and me was up at Mister Roy’s one day and I heard it.”
Brian’s imagination was bigger than the sky, but I was afraid not to believe him.

After the truck disappeared, talk soon turned to who dared walk farthest up the gravel road. Tony Culver had told us both several times that we’d better not ever come up there. He was twelve, and probably bigger than me and Brian put together.

Brian told me that he had once walked as far as the third house, and dared me to do the same. Gullible as I was, and not willing to be bested by my seven-year-old cousin, off I went. Traipsing down grandma’s long gravel driveway.

I turned around every few yards, checking to see how far away I was getting, and making sure my cousin was still there by the porch. Then I’d turn back around and look up the hill, imagining mean ol’ Mister Culver, rabid dogs, and listening for the faintest sound of anything that would send me immediately scurrying back the way I had come.

As I walked, my steps became slower, my glances back more frequent. I tried to think of any way I could get out of this deadly dare.

I had just reached the end of the driveway and started up the perilous road when I heard my grandma whistle. Grandma had the softest voice, but when she put those two fingers in her mouth and whistled, I bet you could hear it in the next county.

Oh I had never been so glad to hear her whistle as I was that day. I stopped in my tracks and turned to see the two of them–her and Brian–standing on the porch. The little rat had told on me!

I gladly took off running towards the house. Whatever punishment awaited me, I was certain it would not involve a horse whip.

“Muddy roads, muddy feet. I didn’t live on no blacktop street. Things have changed a lot but I never did…”

Festivus 2006 Recap

They came.
They grieved.
They left.

Pizza has been consumed. Grievances aired. The pole is back in the crawlspace. Another Festivus For The Rest Of Us has come and gone.

This year’s attendance of fourteen Festivians was a 75% increase over last year’s total of eight. I hereby deem the 2nd Annual Festivus At Bone’s an unqualified success. Thanks to all who attended.

It warmed my heart to hear everyone’s grievances with me. About three or four of which involved me not answering my phone, returning calls, or returning emails. Do my friends know me or what!

Unfortunately, it never crossed my mind to take pictures. Fortunately, some of the festivities were captured on video. This is my first venture into the world of YouTube. For those of you who were unable to attend, I hope this gives you a small taste of what it was like:

Festivus 2006

I’m looking forward to next year. However, if Festivus ’07 is any bigger, we may have to expand out to the patio.

OK, I gotta get in bed or Santa’s never gonna come. I hope you all have a merry Christmas.

“Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright. Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow will find it hard to sleep tonight…”

Presents under the tree…

Bringing back an old holiday favorite: Penguin Baseball (Thank me later.)

I really wanted to do another Dear Santa letter again this year. But things have been hectic with shopping and wrapping and Festivus preparations and such.

However, I am all done wrapping gifts. So in the meantime, here are a couple of pictures for your enjoyment. This is my tree and my OCD present arrangement:

Notice the unwrapped book in the lower right corner? Yeah, Axl thinks wrapping gifts isn’t very manly. So that’s what I got him.

And here is my front yard:

OK, not really. I don’t even have a yard. That’s from last year’s Ice Exhibit in Nashville.

Here’s wishing you all a Happy Festivus Eve!

“Please have snow, and mistletoe, and presents under the tree…”

3 Word Wednesday #15

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Sand
Rush
Handle

aging face
mirror shows
only quickens
never slows

seconds, hours
days and years
mem’ries seen thru
homesick tears

reaching out
fingers clasp
handle lacking
empty grasp

always hurry
in a rush
they say it flies
it really does

like sand
we watch it
fall

“We look to our future. We make all our plans. As if we control what is out of our hands…”

Raw Eggs & Pugilism

Hello, and welcome to movie phone. If you know the name of the movie you’d like to see, press one now.
*beep*
Using your touch-tone keypad, please enter the first three letters of the movie you’d like to see.
*beep beep beep*
You have selected, Rocky Balboa. If this is correct, press one.
*beep*

Dah da da dah da da dah da da dah
Dah dah da da dah da da dah da da daaah
Dah da da dah da dah da daaaah dah daaaaah

Am I the only one who just got chills?

Attention, aficianados of outstanding cinema. It’s coming. Tomorrow.

After sixteen years of dormancy, everyone’s favorite sixty-year-old five-foot-eight-inch prize fighter is back. Sylvester Stallone returns in Rocky Balboa. The final chapter in this sextrilogy that has captivated America for thirty years. And I am so ready!

I get chills everytime I hear the Rocky theme song or “Eye of the Tiger.” (On a tangent, how cool is it to be that guy was the lead singer of Survivor? Your career includes Eye Of The Tiger and those Bud Light real men of genius commercials!)

Also, there’s only so many Judge Dredd’s, Stop Or My Mom Will Shoot’s, and Get Carter’s one can take.

And besides that, I’m glad the series isn’t ending with Rocky V. Because admittedly, it sucked. Even though at the time, I figured surely that was the last one. Because, well, Stallone was 46 and it had been five years since Rocky IV, which at the time, I also thought would be the last one. Hmmm. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the final chapter.

One thing I’ve noticed as I’ve traveled the internets in recent days promoting the film, is that some people don’t seem to share my enthusiasm, excitement, yea, delirium, over the release of Rocky VI. Women especially.

That started the old cogwheel turning, and I began to ponder why, as a general rule, men seem to like Rocky more than women. Not surprisingly, I have come up with a couple of ideas. Let’s toss these against the wall and see if they stick.

Men like to have something that women don’t like to do. Take fishing, for example. It’s not that we enjoy sitting out in the middle of a body of water for hours on end all that much. But these are the lengths we’ve been forced to go to.

I think perhaps movies such as Rocky are like this. Men like to have things they can rally around and discuss amongst themselves that women either don’t understand, or don’t want to be part of. Like carburetors, Hooters, and the two-deep zone defense.

We just want to have something to call our own. I mean, we don’t intrude on you when you want to go see a play, or talk about your feelings, or cook us a delicious meal.

Another reason men like Rocky is that he’s a man’s man. Who else can dress in red, white, and blue trunks and not be made fun of? And he doesn’t mince words. With a simple, manly “Adriaaaan!” he lets his woman know he loves her.

But I think perhaps the main reason men like Rocky is that, in our minds, we are Rocky. Allow me to explain.

Every man has gotten the crap beat out of him at some point in his life. Oh sure, maybe not always literally. Physical altercations serve only to crease our Dockers and scuff our finely cobbled shoes.

But figuratively, we’ve all been beaten down. Seemingly defeated. By jobs. Women. Child support. The Bush regime. Life, in general.

But like Rocky, we always get back up. (Or turn to a life of drugs and alcohol to drown our troubles.) Either way, in the end, guess who wins? That’s right. Rocky…

And for those of you naysayers who think Rocky, at sixty, is too old, I offer this. This is America. Where the government has squandered Social Security, and men have to work everyday of our wretched lives until we die. There’s no retiring in America! Rocky, Sylvester, or Rambo is probably just providing for his family like the rest of us.

We’ve watched over the years as Balboa has defeated Apollo Creed, Mister T, the Russian, and that guy who had AIDS. But now comes Rocky’s toughest foe of all. Some guy named Mason “The Line” Dixon? Uhh… I mean, Father Time.

And we have faith that he will be victorious. Why? Because he’s Rocky, that’s why! And also because it’s a movie and to end it otherwise would just be wrong and cruel.

Man, I’m really feeling the testosterone pumping now!!! Reeeaaaarrrrr! I think I might go crack open a couple of raw eggs and drink them….

OK, so maybe not. Maybe I’ll just sleep tonight in my red, white, and blue undies.

“Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive…”

Dear Mamaw

Dear Mamaw,

It’s a week ’til Christmas. I know if this were twenty years ago, you’d be going to town with Mom or one of the other girls and buying a gift for every single person in the family. Eleven kids, their spouses, and all twenty or thirty-some-odd grandkids.

I never thought about it then, but looking back, it’s amazing how you made each of us feel special. I had no doubt you’d do anything in your power for me. And I’m confident the other grandkids felt the same.

I miss you, Mamaw.

It’s especially hard around the holidays. We still get together on Christmas Eve. And it’s still my favorite time of the year. But something’s missing. Every year, I look around at everyone talking, laughing, singing. And I wonder if they think the same thing I think. Someone’s missing.

Some of my absolute favorite memories in life are Christmas Eves at your house. I remember the year it snowed and the pond iced over. The year one of my cousins was getting a bicycle for Christmas and I could hear my uncle beating and banging and putting it together. The year we were driving home from your house and I saw Santa Claus knocking on someone’s door, and got worried I wasn’t going to get home and get to sleep in time.

One of my favorite Christmases was the year I spent the night with you on the 23rd. And being there the next afternoon when all the family started arriving. I wish I’d done that every year. I’ll always regret not spending more time with you, Mamaw.

I know you understand. But it was my loss. We don’t realize certain things when we’re young. But anytime I passed up an opportunity to spend time with you, it was always my loss.

Do you remember the last time I saw you, Mamaw? I don’t. I can’t. And it makes me sad. Although I guess it’s good for you that it happened quickly. That you didn’t suffer or go thru some prolonged illness. I just wish I’d been able to say goodbye.

I’m worried about Mom lately. Work has been very stressful for her the last couple of years. She’s having health problems more frequently. She’s started repeating herself a lot. I don’t know what to do, or say. I wish she had you to call and talk to about things.

I try and spend time with her whenever she asks. Even though she called me Thursday night to see if I’d ride to Walgreen’s with her. And I told her no. I feel guilty about it now. But we went shopping Saturday. And I’m gonna keep trying to do better.

I still remember your phone number. To this day. That must mean I called you a lot, right Mamaw? That must be a good sign or something. If I remember your phone number after all these years. I wish I still had you to call and talk to.

Sometimes I wonder what things about myself I got from you. I remember how kind you were. How giving. How you put others ahead of yourself. You lived in an old two-bedroom frame house, never had a car or even learned to drive. And you let me borrow money to go to my junior prom.

I don’t know if I ever said thank you for that. I don’t even know if I ever paid you back. But thank you, Mamaw. I hope some of your good rubbed off on me.

As for me, Mamaw, I’m doing well. I’ve rediscovered a love, and perhaps some talent, for writing. Sometimes I’ve written things that have made someone cry. This is the first time I’ve ever teared up while writing.

I’m 33 now. Next year will be fifteen years since you left us. It’s hard to believe I’ve been without you nearly half my life. I’m trying to remember as much as I can about you. And writing it down, in case I forget.

I remember how you’d sit up late watching Carson. He retired just a few weeks after you left us. I like staying up watching Letterman. I remember how you’d snack on bananas and Doritos. And how you’d always send me home with a bag of candy, fruit, and other goodies.

One thing I miss the most, Mamaw, is how you were always proud of me. I think that’s the greatest gift anyone could ever give. Unconditional love. I guess I don’t have the greatest job now. I’m not rich and famous. Not married. No kids. But I know if you were here today, you’d still be proud to call me your grandson.

And I’ll always be proud to call you Mamaw.

I miss you.

Silver Pole

Today, December 15th, is the first-ever (as far as I know) Reveal Your Blog Crush Day, instituted by the prolific Ms. Sizzle. Click here to view the guidelines.

I am honored to have been mentioned by the lovely Mz. Circe. And to have been named Traveling Chica’s 2006 Male Blog Crush! Thanks, gals. The blog love is reciprocated. You are two of my favorites, as you can probably tell from your site meters.

Last night, I thoroughly enjoyed The Office hour-long Christmas special, which I had been looking forward to way more than I should. Some quotes:

“I marked her arm.”

“Permission to join the Validity Committee?”

“It’s a bold move to Photoshop yourself into a picture with your girlfriend and her kids on a ski trip with their real father. But then again, Michael’s a bold guy. Is bold the right word?”

“We’re going to Asian Hooters.”

“Bro’s before ho’s.”

“You have been compromised. Abort mission. Destroy phone.”

I’ve also begun to compose some songs for Festivus. Now, before you get too excited, I need to tell you that while the lyrics are mine, I kind of ripped off the tune.

Also, to add to the madness, I’ve included a clip of yours truly singing the Festivus song! There’s no turning back now, babee! (Keep in mind I’ve had no formal vocal training. I’m more of, what you might call, a lyrical stylist.) But without further adieu, I present:

A Festivus song by Bone.

Silver Pole
(Words by Bone. Sing to the tune of Silver Bells, pretty much.)

all these worksheets
grievance worksheets
lined with blanks yet to fill
in the air there’s a feeling of terseness
there’ll be laughing
people shouting
maybe a marriage will end
and in the midst of the room, you will see

silver pole (silver pole)
silver pole (silver pole)
it’s festivus in the city
tinsel free (tinsel free)
so sturdy (so sturdy)
soon it will be festivus

there’ll be meatloaf
maybe pizza
at the festivus meal
after grievances aired hearts are heavy
then it’s time for
feats of strength, it’s
frank costanza’s big scene
festivus won’t be o’er till someone’s pinned

(‘neath the…)
silver pole (silver pole)
silver pole (silver pole)
it’s festivus in the city
tinsel free (tinsel free)
so sturdy (so sturdy)
soon it will be festivus

“You, you, you, you, you, you, you oughta know…”

Three Word Wednesday #14

Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. This is a writing exercise. It doesn’t have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I’ll also attempt to write something using the same three words.

Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.

This week’s words are:
Page
Inquire
Twirl

“Hello?”
“Hi. I’m calling to inquire about the pool table you had for sale in the paper. I was thinking of getting one for my hus-“
“Sorry, it’s already sold.”
“Oh… well thanks anyway.”
“No problem.”

James hung up the phone. Then unplugged it. He looked around at the apartment that had been his home for the last year. Now it was only barren walls and cardboard boxes, yet it seemed smaller than it ever had before. He placed the cordless into the last open box, as Kevin came thru the front door, holding a lamp like it was the Olympic torch.

“This lamp. Staying or going?”

“That goes.”

“What’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Come on, bro. What is it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” James answered, shaking his head and looking at the floor.

“Look, man. I’m the only friend you have to talk to who won’t consider you gay afterward.”

His statement drew a smile and a shove. “Shut the-“

“Seriously,” Kevin interrupted.

James began to close and tape up the last open box. “I dunno, Kev. It’s just… I was married, dude. And now, I’m not. You know? I mean, it’s not supposed to be like this. We didn’t even last five years.”

Kevin, the shorter and pudgier of the two, breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh, “God, man. I don’t know what to say.”

“I mean, met in college. Married after graduation. We did everything by the book. And… you knew her. She was perfect.”

“She was sweet… and hot. Remember that night she did that dance on the-“

“Thanks, man,” James stopped him. “You’re really a huge help.”

“Come on, J. You gotta go out, dude. It’s been a whole freakin’ year.”

“A year and twelve days.”

Kev sighed again. “Look, I’m meeting Tim and Vanessa at The Breeze tonight. She’s supposed to be bringing some girls…”

“I don’t wanna meet anyone,” James raised his voice in a futile attempt to end the conversation, or at least change it. It was his usual reply, given partly out of guilt, partly out of fear. But mostly it was easier than saying or doing anything else.

Kevin continued, “OK, you don’t like that approach. How about this? Life, my young friend, is like a book. When one chapter closes, you turn the page and begin another.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, oh great one. Especially considering you’ve never opened a book. What’s that from? Doctor Phil?”

“No. Fortune cookie. Loosely translated. Anyway, Vanessa really wants you to come out tonight. Farrah’s supposed to be there. You know… No Panties Farrah…” Kevin lifted his eyebrows and waited for a reply. His remark drew a laugh.

“Don’t do the dance,” James closed his eyes and turned away as he said it, but it was too late. Kevin was dancing and chanting.

“No pan-ties Faaaar-rah. No pan-ties Faaaar-rah…”

The Idiot Dance, James thought, as he named it on the spot.

“Come on, bro. What can it hurt? Give it a twirl.”

“Twirl? It’s whirl, jackass.”

“What?” Kevin squinted.

“The phrase is, give it a whirl.”

“Well, excuse me, Mister Business Management major. How’s that degree working out for you down at the mall, by the way?”

James sighed and put his hands over his face. “I’m divorced. I work at the mall. And I’m moving back home with my parents. What the hell happened to my life?”

“You should’ve done like me, man, and never left home in the first place.”

“Gee, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Come on! New chapter, bro,” Kevin grabbed his friend’s shoulders and shook. Then patted him on the back. “Focus! Confucius say, turn the page.”

James rolled his eyes. His cell rang. Thank God for small blessings.

“Who is it?” Kevin asked nosily.

“It’s your Momma. Now can you go outside and give us some privacy?”

Kevin didn’t move, except to lean over and try to sneak a peek at who was calling. James warded him off with his right arm while holding the phone in his left hand. He answered.

“Hello?”

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“Hi, this is Farrah… Vanessa’s roomate. Remember me?”

“Oh, uh, Farrah. Um, yeah, of course. Hey!”

Kevin got a giddy smile on his face and began to dance around again.

“These clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore everything that we hate or adore. Once the page of a calendar is turned it’s no more. So tell me then, what was it for?”

So many Christmases

One of the best things about blogging to me is meeting so many wonderful people, like my fellow-Southerner Shayna. This is my week to be featured at her My Music Highway Project.

I love music. When I began blogging, I wanted to do something different to set my blog apart. So I came up with the idea of including song lyrics at the end of each post. I encourage you to surf over and check it out.

Thirteen days. That’s all. In the time it took to diffuse the Cuban Missile Crisis, Christmas will be here. Somehow I have a feeling this will seem to pass much faster than that.

Thru a complicated process of inventory and comparison research (aka counting the gifts I’ve bought and dividing them by the number of gifts I need to buy), I’ve determined that I surpassed the all important 50% barrier with my shopping this weekend.

(Note: I employ the one-one-one-one-cross count-by-fives method of gift counting. Also useful in games of tic-tac-toe.)

So now that I’m over half done with my shopping, what does that mean? I will begin to wrap some presents this week. Also, I need to write and address my Christmas cards today. And of course, there’s more shopping to do.

All the while, I’ll be trying to stop and grasp a few blessed moments of the holiday season as it goes flying by. Breathe in the cold air. Listen to Christmas songs. Watch holiday movies. Try and find time to ride around and look at the lights and decorations.

Once I thought of life in years. But now, sometimes, I think of life in Christmases. It seems shorter that way, but it helps me appreciate the days more. Especially this time of year. We only have so many Christmases left.

When I was a kid, these last few days seemed to take forever. I wished I could speed them up. Now I wish I could slow them down.

Such is life, I suppose.

“Every Christmas Day makes every other day seem long. What seemed would never get here has so quickly come and gone…”