Put Down That Cellphone, You Idiot.

It was only a matter of time.

Everything I've known and loved either causes cancer or tries to kill me.  Dairy Queen, cigars, alcohol, you name it, it maims and destroys.

Now, to top it all off, it appears that cellphones cause cancer.

But wait.  Maybe, maybe not.

Seems an "international panel of experts" (as opposed to your Mama, the real expert) decided that there are "possible" human-harming carcinogens in the "electromagnetic radiation" found in cellphones.

WHATTTT?  There's radiation in my Crackberry?  Who'da thunk it?

I have some issues with this report.

A--these folks met in France.  That's right--nation of wimps and wine.

2--it took them a week to decide on the report.  No telling how many people contracted phone cancer in that time period.  I feel a lawsuit coming on.

D--the test group may be flawed.  The testing began with a survey of people who already had cancer and asked them how often they used their cellphones.  Ten years ago.

These experts are part of the World Health Organization.  WHO?  That's right.

In 2007 the USA contributed over $101 million dollars to these bozos.  And we get a French report about a ten-year-old test on sick people who used cellphones.

I want my money back.

It's Been A Long Time, Baby...*

*Elvis Presley, during the 1968 "Comeback" special.

Oh, the places you'll go I've been since the last time I wrote.

I attended the Wedding Of The Century.  No, not that one.  My son John married the beautiful Amanda in Melbourne Beach, Florida.  We've decided that if he blows it we're keeping her.  On a side note, if you happen to stay at the Radisson Beachfront in Melbourne Beach do not deal with Andy at the front desk.  And make sure your air conditioning is working before you check in.  Wisdom from experience.

We survived two rounds of tornado weather.  I know this will sound callous, but once you've been through a Florida hurricane--or eleven of them--tornadoes just don't seem like that big a deal.  But they are.

We've apparently gone full circle in church-hunting, presently attending Dahlonega Baptist Church, where a friend/classmate of the Queen is pastor.  I can't believe it, and neither can I.

I'm more convinced by the day that life imitates the car business.  When gas hit the $4-a-gallon mark folks scurried to buy more fuel-efficient vehicles, which our dealership had plenty of at the time.  These same folks got irate when we wouldn't sell them these same vehicles at invoice, thereby essentially losing money.  We really are crooks, us car people.

Speaking of gas prices, somebody asked the other day why stations were charging so much.  I told 'em it was because they could.  And get away with it.  Of course, in Georgia, when fuel prices hit a certain level a tax is levied (included in the price per gallon) which never goes away, no matter if prices go down.  Like Daddy used to say, I wished they'da kissed me first.

I think that's about it for bringing y'all up to date.  But I'm sure there's more just ahead.

Real News.

I was fortunate enough during my college years to have Billy Watson, then editor of the Macon Telegraph, as one of my professors.  I took a 7am class on newspaper writing from him.

I'll never forget the day he brought in a book entitled All The News Not Fit To Print.  It contained a compilation of "news" articles published over the years by various periodicals which weren't exactly...news.

Well, Billy, I think I found another one.

Forget the Japan earthquake and the tsunami.  Bypass the economy and the uprisings in the Middle East.  This is Real.  News.

Apparently, in the middle Georgia town of Forsyth, an entire section of I-75 was shut down earlier this week. By the Wienermobile.

It was the wurst that could happen, but, on a slow news day this particular reporter must have exclaimed, "Hot Dog!"

Frankly I was surprised that Oscar Meyer (whose bologna has a first AND last name) wasn't in the vehicle at the time.

But I also have it on good authority that Oscar's really a big brat.

Anyway, don't miss the picture of one of Monroe County's finest pulling over the Wienermobile.

The driver was cited for impeding the flow of traffic, escorted to the dog pound, and the vehicle was inspected for further health violations.  The officer was accused of fondling the vehicle's buns.  The vehicle was impounded by Nu-Way Wieners in Macon and was found to be filled with top-quality meat and meat by-products, then topped with chili and slaw and served on a steamed bun.

Eat your heart out, Billy.

RIP, Ronnie Hammond.

Ronnie Hammond, legendary lead singer for the Atlanta Rhythm Section, died Monday at age 60.

I first met Ronnie when I was Student Body President at Gordon Junior College in 1975.  Well, not exactly.

I met him at Atlanta Recording Studio prior to that.  ARS was recording a cover of "Spooky", I already knew Buddie Buie, his son, and J. R. Cobb, guitarist for the band, having done some studio work there.

Ronnie started off in Macon, singing on then-gospel-singer-later-turned Mayor "Machine-Gun" Ronnie Thompson's television show on WMAZ.

Man, was he good. 

Rarely do you find a white boy with as much soul as Ronnie had.  He put his heart into every song he sang, a result of a conflicted life at the time (resolved later on with the help of God and friends).

I had to beg and plead with the GJC administration to get them to schedule the band for a campus concert.  Not many people had heard of them at that point, and they were a calculated risk for the school. 

I called Mr. Buie, got Ronnie, who said they'd love to do the gig.  We laughed later about how desperate ARS was for paid dates.

By the time the show came around weeks later, "Doraville" was racing up the charts, followed by "Angel" and "Who You Gonna Run To".

I looked like a genius.  I wasn't.  I just loved good Southern Rock.  And ARS was one of the best.

Ronnie lived in Forsyth and died there Monday.

How fitting.  The "homeplace" of Southern Rock sent off one of its favorite children.

Like Johnny Cash once sang, "everyone I know goes away in the end."

One of my favorite ARS songs (probably because I identify with it so well):


"Alien"
The sun just went behind a cloud again
Down crowded streets he walks alone
He's a stranger out of place
A number not a face
And all day long, all day long

He's feelin like an alien
Feelin' like he don't belong
Have mercy, cried the alien
Help him find his way back home

The feelin' that he feels he can't explain
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, they're all the same
He's lost and all alone
A heart without a home
Standin' like a statue in the rain

Now, now and then we all are aliens
Feelin' like we don't belong
Have mercy, cried the alien
Help him find his way back home
 
 

One Day At A Time...

Six years ago this month, the wheels on my life came off.

Rewind to Christmastime 2004.  I remember telling my family that they'd all be better off if I was dead.  I sure thought I would, because I just wanted...relief.

Merry.  Christmas.  Y'all.

Then, in February 2005, all hell broke loose.  Without going into a lot of detail (because it's none of your business), let's just say that the same misery I'd been putting my loved ones through for what seemed to them--and me--forever, finally came down on me like fire from the mountain.

It's not that I hadn't lived the nightmare before, and shared it all--humiliation, separation, job loss, all of it--with my wife and kids.  Hey, when you're miserable, why not spread the wealth?

But this time was...different.  They'd had enough, and kicked me out.

My heart hurts even writing about it now, years later.  But I need to say what needs to be said.

Jennie...thanks for kicking me to the curb, and in the process saving my life.  You did the right thing.

John and Carder...thanks for supporting your Mama.  You knew she was doing what needed to be done, whatever the consequences.

Emily...thanks for telling me during the intervention, "Daddy, fight for me."  I've never forgotten that, and I never will.

Mama...thanks for taking me in (I slept on the floor of her house for almost six months on a mattress I brought with me). 

All of my family...thanks for showing me unconditional love.  Although you'd loved me that way all of my life, I could never receive it until everything was gone. 

And, finally, a song that says it all:


"One Day At A Time" - Joe Walsh
I was always the first to arrive at the party,
And the last to leave the scene of the crime
Well it started with a couple of beers,
And it went i dont know how many years,
Like a runaway train headed for the end of the line.

Well I finally got around to admit that I might have a problem.
But I thought it was just too damn big of a mountain to climb.
Well I got down on my knees and said 'Hey!'
'I just cant go on livin' this way!'
Guess I have to learn to live my life one day at a time.
Oh yeah! One day at a time!
Oh yeah! One day at a time!

Well I finally got around to admit that I was the problem.
When I used to put the blame on everybody's shoulders but mine.
All the friends I used to run with are gone,
Lord, I hadn't planned on livin' this long.
I have to learn to live my life one day at a time.

It was something it was too blind to see,
I got help from something greater than me...
And I have to learn to live my life one day at a time!

Anothuh Wacka Flocka Flame Story

Recently I wrote about, among other things, an Atlanta rapper by the name of Waka Flocka Flame and his, um, encounters with local law enforcement agencies.

In the words of that great philosopher Billy Mays, "But wait...there's more."

Seems now that said Flocka Flame's tour bus was shot at while having a stereo installed in Charlotte, North Carolina.

I have a question.  If you were going to buy a touring bus, wouldn't you buy one with a stereo already in it?

But, like Congress, I digress.

Apparently, and I quote, "random cars pulled up and began shooting."  Now, I'm not real smart, but I'd be more interested in the cars doing the shooting than by the shooting itself.

Flocka Flame and a couple of his entourage were detained after the fracas.  No word on whether Gucci Mane (pronounced "Goochie") was anywhere in the state.

Or whether Chief Noc-A-Homa was involved.

I just love writing stuff like this.  Can you tell?

The End of Another Era. Again.

David Nelson, the last remaining Nelson of the "Ozzie and Harriet" Nelsons, died this week.

I never knew what Ozzie did for a living.

I never knew what Harriet did around the house, other than say "Ozzie!".

I did know what "Little Ricky" did.  He sang.

"Poor Little Fool", "Travelin' Man", and, of course, "I'm Walkin'".

Yes indeed.

What did David do this entire time?  Smile for the camera.

I never knew what David did either, but he did get married.  And performed in what would become the longest-running sketch comedy series of all time.

Yes indeed.

And outlived his family.

Ozzie and Harriet represented what every American family wanted to be--stable, secure, good-looking kids, all of it, right down to the white picket fence (oh, wait, that was "Leave It To Beaver").

The good old days.  If only they were here again.

Yes indeed.