My Two Cents...With A Penny Left Over

Seeing as how hundreds dozens two or three people might be influenced by what I think, I'm prepared to postulate about the Georgia Governor's race.

Roy Barnes is a Democrat.  Nathan Deal is a Republican.

Now, let's be honest.  Most of the time there ain't a nickel's worth of difference between the two parties.

And why do they call them "parties"?  They always seem to be fighting someone about something--mostly each other--and rarely smile.  Except when they're backslapping each other, planting the knife a little deeper with each pat.  Doesn't look like much of a party to me.

Anyway, I was fortunate enough to be living in the Hurricane Sunshine State the last time Barnes was the top Dawg in Georgia.  But I read about him periodically in the Atlanta Journal periodical.

The biggest thing I remember is how Roy changed the State Flag.

For the uninformed, the Official State Flag of the Great State of Georgia used to be this:

Then Ol' Roy got elected, and the State Flag was changed to this:

I've seen Ol' Roy's flag before.  It's been at Six Flags Over Georgia since it opened in the 1960s.

Now the state flag looks like this:

The first flag is the one I grew up with.  Notice anything unique about it?  That's right, the Great Seal of Georgia is on the left.  Naw...that ain't it.

It's got a racially insensitive, redneck-inspiring, Rebel-yelling symbol of the Confederacy just screaming for attention.  And getting it.

I won't get into all the ramifications of the Stars and Bars, the Battle Flag of the Lost Cause, the remnant of what true Southerners like to call The War of Northern Aggression.

My Lumpkin County Berry ancestors were a part of the famed Blue Ridge Rifles of the Confederacy, the Marines of North Georgia, whose name and reputation live on at North Georgia College in the ROTC program, another pain in the ass for liberals.

But I digress.

While flags have little or nothing to do with how government is operated, I think they do serve as a symbol of whatever they're supposed to represent.  The first flag is Dixie.  The last flag is Safe.  The Ol' Roy flag is just Dumb.  It looks like whoever designed it was trying to please everyone while inspiring no one.

Oh, wait, that reminds me of the current election.

I've decided, based on my vast knowledge of the Roy Barnes era, to call him Ol' Roy for the duration of the race.  Here's why.

Ol' Roy was the name of Sam Walton's (he of Wal-Mart fame) dog.  And the name of the Wal-Mart brand of dog food.

Ol' Roy dog food is manufactured by some mysterious company, name unknown, and labeled for sale in all the Wal-Marts of the world.  I assume it's like every other generic product sold anywhere under any name--it's the lowest bidder's product.  It serves a purpose, but you never really know what you're buying until your dog pukes his guts out because he's eaten lead-laced bovine by-products produced in China.

I wouldn't feed my Sir Jack Ol' Roy if it was the only dog food left on the planet.  And I won't vote for Ol' Roy for Governor.  I'd like to think the voters of Georgia had enough sense to impose term limits on him the first time he served.

Of course, I thought Americans had enough sense in the last presidential election to choose wisely.

So I could be wrong this time too.

Sir Jack

So...I went to Dahlonega last Friday night and decided to take Jackson the human dog along for the ride.

Every dog I've ever had loved to ride in a vehicle.  Stonewall, Jack's distant predecessor, loved to ride in the Mustang with the top down.  Acted like he owned the car.  And the world.

Jack gives every indication he's going to be just like Stoney.  He sits/lies in the passenger seat, alternately laid out and upright, sniffing all the new scents of the road and taking in all the sights.

He must know Dahlonega is a tourist town.  He sure stares at it like one.

I took him past the old Courthouse, around the Square, up towards Grandma's, and started back home.  At which point he, standing upright and regal, peed all over the passenger seat.

It belongs to him now.

Others may sit there.

But it's Sir Jack's throne.

The King Is Dead...Long Live The King

It's Elvis Week in Memphis.  Funny, I just figured every week was Elvis Week in Memphis.

There were the ETA (Elvis Tribute Artist) competitions, the annual Candlelight Vigil at midnight on August 16, a TCB Band (the remnants of Elvis' stage band) concert, and more.

I can still remember August 16, 1977, like it was yesterday.  I was in Marietta, Georgia, in the last of twenty--count 'em--twenty churches the Mission Team I was a member of had been in that summer.  Going home that night, Mama and Daddy had brought me my fire-engine red Chevy Impala.  I couldn't wait.


My partner that summer, Fred O. Pitts (Fred-O), knew I loved Elvis.  When I got back to the home where we had been staying, he was waiting.

"Roscoe," he started, "I have some bad news.  The King is dead."

Just like that.

I didn't have to ask who he was talking about and he didn't have to tell me.  He knew I loved Elvis.  I talked, sang, and acted like him constantly.  Fred-O wanted to be the one to tell me.

In disbelief I drove down to the 7-11 to get an Atlanta Journal, which was then published in the afternoon (the Atlanta Constitution was the morning paper).  I knew it was true when I saw the "Blue Streak" edition of the Journal, only published under special circumstances.  The headline confirmed what Fred-O had told me: "THE KING IS DEAD".  I still have the paper.  The Memphis Commercial-Appeal was more poignant:  "A Lonely Life Ends on Elvis Presley Boulevard".

I had seen Elvis in concert at the Macon Coliseum less that two months earlier.  He was wearing the same powder-blue suit they would bury him in.  I was shocked at his appearance and told my date, "He won't last six months."

He didn't.

While others were in West Memphis this past Sunday night, walking quietly past graves in the moonlight, I was watching "Elvis: Aloha From Hawaii".  Again.

When Elvis sang "I'll Remember You", the lyrics were haunting.  Again.

I'll remember you, long after this, when the summer is gone...Love me always, promise always...you'll remember too.

 I thought to myself:  yes, I will.

Absolute Truths

From boortz.com:
 
I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.

I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

There is great need for a sarcasm font.

How are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

Was learning cursive really necessary?

Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.

Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

Bad decisions make good stories.

You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.

"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this - ever.

I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello?), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice mail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what was going on when I first saw it.

I would rather try to carry 10 over-loaded plastic bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!

Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.

Is it just me or do high school kids get dumber & dumber every year?

There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate bicyclists.

Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time!