At dinner last night at Madison’s, our group’s conversation got around to my columns. There were several complimentary comments on recent subjects, and then one lady said, “But the ones about The Runner were the best.”
This put me on the track that Sid Riley, the Managing Editor of the Times placed me on. When he subtitled my first, “I’m Not Obese” article as “the continuing saga” I felt compelled to write a second one, in obeisance to my namesake, the famous blind Greek poet Homer, who penned the Odyssey. And, as I pointed out, sagas have a tendency to go on………and on.
Accept this as a report of my wellbeing and my advancement up the ladder of success in my several ventures. I reported that I weighed 215 pounds when I began walking and dieting. Then I told my readers that I dropped down to 190, and was wearing jackets that had hung in the back of my closet for some years. I also set up the possibility of my going a measured mile with “The Runner” in the year 2014, when I will be eighty five years old.
I am pleased to report to you that I now weigh 180 pounds, and I will be working throughout this New Year on cutting it down to 170 so that I can once again wear my U.S. Navy Dress White Uniform, with services medals and sword. This is a double goal: I will then have a certain indication that I was once that slimmed fit, and “The Runner” told me that uniforms excite her. I am assuming that she meant U.S. Navy uniforms, not park ranger’s camos or nurse smocks.
And I am on track for my measured mile goal of eight minutes. You will recall that I began this year strolling a mile in thirty minutes. I got serious and soon cut this to twenty five and then twenty minutes. This indicated that in a four year period it would be possible for me to make the distance in eight minutes. I am now down to sixteen minutes, and on some days I not only set a fast pace walking, I run part of the distance. Recently I was honored by being selected Grand Marshal of the Sneads Christmas Parade, and I either walked or ran most of the distance alongside my Explorer, ever though we were in, for the most part, rain and cold.
So, this presents an opportunity to me that had never come to mind until I noticed that Tiger Woods is losing endorsements right and left. Just before Christmas I went to Sandestin with a couple of my friends from the Table of Truth and Justice in Chattahoochee, and we actually went shopping. I stood around, mostly, and watched them in the Bass Pro Shop. They spent some time trying to get me to go into Victoria’s Secret to buy a Christmas gift for someone, but I resisted, and I compromised by going to the Nike store.
Nike has sporting goods, from gloves to shoes, for any sport except Acey-Deucey. I walked around in awe until a nice young salesman approached me and asked what my sport was. I quickly said “running”, not wanting to tell him that I was really a modified stroller. He nodded and led me to the shoes. Soon I was fitted out with a pair of very nice on-sale running shoes, and he had learned that I am retired Navy and that I write a weekly column for a newspaper, to which my friends added that it would probably soon be syndicated nationwide and maybe in Canada. I paid for the shoes and left, but not before he had learned the Times website address.
And then I thought back to something that Jerry Clower, the country comedian from Amite County, Mississippi wrote about endorsements. In his famous, “Knock him out, John” tale of coon hunting he had mentioned a Poulan chain saw. The next week he received a new chain saw from the Poulan Company. Jerry then began talking about Chrysler convertibles, an automobile he had always coveted. Chrysler came through, not with a convertible but with a Dodge pickup truck, which really suited Jerry better.
So how do I turn this concept into something lucrative?
I have mentioned by name restaurants and stores often in my articles. So far none of the folks that run these fine establishments have reciprocated with gifts. Perhaps it is how the names appear in print. Here is the way it’s ‘going down’ from now on out. I have decided that the names should be eye-catching, and I will make them so.
Occasionally, I and “The Runner” have breakfast at the *Waffle House*, but we may drop in on the *Gazebo* on occasion. Practically every first Tuesday night a group of us *REPUBLICANS* have a late supper at *Madisons*. Gina Stuart, who is owner of *K. B. Connor Realtor*, is one of the group, as is Bruce Lambert, who owns *Lambert Inspection Services*. The reason for this get together is that we have the monthly meeting of the *Jackson County Republican Executive Committee*. Because we dine late, I often stop by *Sweet Stuff Bakery* on the way to the meeting for a snack to tide me over.
As my regular readers know, I do not shop, I buy. Whenever I need electronic gear, or office supplies, I often end up at *Mickey Gilmore’s Wal-Mart*, but on occasion I make a stop at *Beall’s Outlet* or *Suitman of Florida* to check on trousers that fit, since my waistband has come down from a forty-four to a thirty eight. And of course this means that my too large clothes must then go to the *Habitat for Humanity* thrift shop on Jackson Street. And while I am kicking around the *Main Street Marianna* I will probably drop in at the *Chipola River Book and Tea Shop* for a priced-right book.
This is enough for now. It will take some time for me and my agent to sort through the flood of inducements that I expect from this column. You can be assured that I will move on to the automobile company that builds my favorite vehicle: *FORD MOTOR COMPANY*, so Will Rogers, get ready!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Music, Music, Music……
In Chattahoochee High School I played clarinet, sitting usually as first chair in the second section. I was somewhat shy, and I got to sit every day next to Julie, who was a beautiful brunette. Then the band director put me up to the first clarinet section, but after a day I deliberately missed some octave jumps in my solo so that he would put me back next to Julie.
I thought I played clarinet well until I got to college and met some folks who really knew how. If I had persisted I might have been written up by the music critic that wrote “Nathan Jones played Gershwin last night in concert. Gershwin lost”. I suspect that the soloist tried one of Gershwin’s glissandos, maybe the one from Rhapsody in Blue. If that was so, I can understand his failure and the critic’s comment.
To play a clarinet takes ten fingers, with nine pushing a multitude of keys or covering holes, and one thumb holding the instrument. A trumpet has three valves, takes just three fingers and collects a lot of spit. The only instrument easier than a trumpet is the trombone, which has no keys or valves, just a lot of plumbing. The trombone in medieval Europe was called a “sackbut”. That should be a good reason not to play such a convoluted instrument. I suspect that it was originally spelled “sackbutt “, but the sackbut lobby prevailed and had the last “t” dropped.
There are more wind instruments out there. The oboe is much like the clarinet and is known as “the ill wind that nobody blows good”. Bassoons are double reed instruments that are fingered like oboes but are much larger and appear to be made from PVC pipe left over from a plumbing job. A contrabassoon is bigger, uglier and plays low notes. It needs more fingers than a normal person has.
Of course you cannot mention music here in Jackson County without bringing Royce Reagan up. Royce has a television program called Chipola Speaks. It should be called “Royce Speaks”. It is an “interview” format, and I use the quotation marks because as soon as he introduces the visitor, he takes over the conversation and thirty minutes later the guest has only had time to state his name, rank and serial number. A visiting guitarist recently was standing with one foot on a chair, poised to strike a few chords on his Gibson, when Royce began talking. When the program was over the guest needed help getting his foot off the chair, and his fingers were still poised to strike his first chord.
Three years ago my grandson Stuart, who played trumpet in his school band, visited me. We drove over to Chipola and I left him in the car while I attended a quick meeting. Royce asked me about the young fellow and I told him about the boy’s trumpet playing. Royce left before I did, and when I reached my car Stuart had a quizzical look on his face. Royce had approached him and told him that he could tell just by looking at him that he was a trumpet player. It was a good joke, and I imagine that Stuart is still telling about the wonderful man in Marianna that could look at you and determine what kind of instrument you played.
I had a strong desire some years ago while on active duty in the United States Navy to purchase some bagpipes and learn to play them. If one stays away from real pipers there should be no complaints with the way a novice plays. Who but an expert will know if you make a mistake? I have heard some pipes music that sounded like it was all mistakes. Bagpipes are played in many places in the world, but chiefly among the Scots and the Irish. No wonder the Scots are such fierce warriors. I had rather fight ten men armed to the teeth than to hear one bad piper. Bagpipes, in a slightly different form, have been in India for centuries. They were probably there when Alexander the Great invaded. For some reason he paused. History tells us that this is where he wept because he had no more worlds to conquer. I suspect he heard his first bagpipes and decided it was time to go home, where there were only a few stringed instruments and Pan pipes, which do not have bags connected to them and you don’t need fingers. On second thought, do you remember Zamfir, who marketed recordings of his Pan pipes on television? Maybe Alexander went from the frying pan into the fire. No wonder he died shortly after returning home.
I am drifting a bit, but I have been thinking about my goals for the next ten years and I see no reason not to learn to play this instrument. I will have to order it, or them. So how do I do that? Do I ask for “a bagpipe” or for “some bagpipes”? I don’t want to get more than I can handle. I am reminded of the zookeeper in a small Tennessee town that decided a mongoose, the animal that can fight a cobra to the death, would be an attraction. He wrote a letter to an animal supply house, but decided he needed a pair so they could propagate and be more commercially profitable. So he wrote “Dear sir: please send me two mongooses”. This did not look quite right so he crossed it out and wrote “send me two mongeese”, and that did not look right either, so he wrote “send me a mongoose, and while you are at it send me another one”.
If I play the pipes, will I have to wear a kilt? The Hirts are of Germanic origin, and they wear lederhosen. I don’t think a kilt is appropriate for me. I could fake it, but which clan should I claim? I was in the Chipola River Book and Tea Shop recently and my friend Michael is selling authentic tartan neckties. I checked them out but I am not attracted to any of them. If I can get by without wearing kilts, then I will. I have rather knobby knees and a strange scattering of hair on my calves that could be caused by something like male pattern baldness, but I suspect that it is because I have worn boots for too long. And, as an aside, bagpipe music is called “skirling”, which is also defined as a “shrieking noise”. Doesn’t that excite you?
Another problem has popped up. Sneads now has an anti-noise ordinance. A piper has no defense against this. His music is all noise. The ordinance is only enforceable against places that sell alcoholic beverages, though, and I only sell strong drink to my former shipmates that stop by for a visit, so I am probably safe.
Some years ago a man named Boudreau, from Pittsburgh, talked some large companies up there into constructing a self propelled barge that opened up into a bandshell. He was a river pilot and was also the conductor of the American Wind Symphony Orchestra. Each year he would embark the Orchestra and set out down the Mississippi River, presenting concerts as they went to small and large cities. Twice they came up the Apalachicola River to Chattahoochee, and gave us rednecks a taste of excellent classical music. Of course age overtook both the barge and the maestro, and I have no idea what happened after that. But wouldn’t an orchestra on a barge, playing to everyone, be a great idea for our wonderful tri rivers system?
And there is a fair chance that there may soon be an accomplished bagpiper in the area, ready and willing to skirl away!
I thought I played clarinet well until I got to college and met some folks who really knew how. If I had persisted I might have been written up by the music critic that wrote “Nathan Jones played Gershwin last night in concert. Gershwin lost”. I suspect that the soloist tried one of Gershwin’s glissandos, maybe the one from Rhapsody in Blue. If that was so, I can understand his failure and the critic’s comment.
To play a clarinet takes ten fingers, with nine pushing a multitude of keys or covering holes, and one thumb holding the instrument. A trumpet has three valves, takes just three fingers and collects a lot of spit. The only instrument easier than a trumpet is the trombone, which has no keys or valves, just a lot of plumbing. The trombone in medieval Europe was called a “sackbut”. That should be a good reason not to play such a convoluted instrument. I suspect that it was originally spelled “sackbutt “, but the sackbut lobby prevailed and had the last “t” dropped.
There are more wind instruments out there. The oboe is much like the clarinet and is known as “the ill wind that nobody blows good”. Bassoons are double reed instruments that are fingered like oboes but are much larger and appear to be made from PVC pipe left over from a plumbing job. A contrabassoon is bigger, uglier and plays low notes. It needs more fingers than a normal person has.
Of course you cannot mention music here in Jackson County without bringing Royce Reagan up. Royce has a television program called Chipola Speaks. It should be called “Royce Speaks”. It is an “interview” format, and I use the quotation marks because as soon as he introduces the visitor, he takes over the conversation and thirty minutes later the guest has only had time to state his name, rank and serial number. A visiting guitarist recently was standing with one foot on a chair, poised to strike a few chords on his Gibson, when Royce began talking. When the program was over the guest needed help getting his foot off the chair, and his fingers were still poised to strike his first chord.
Three years ago my grandson Stuart, who played trumpet in his school band, visited me. We drove over to Chipola and I left him in the car while I attended a quick meeting. Royce asked me about the young fellow and I told him about the boy’s trumpet playing. Royce left before I did, and when I reached my car Stuart had a quizzical look on his face. Royce had approached him and told him that he could tell just by looking at him that he was a trumpet player. It was a good joke, and I imagine that Stuart is still telling about the wonderful man in Marianna that could look at you and determine what kind of instrument you played.
I had a strong desire some years ago while on active duty in the United States Navy to purchase some bagpipes and learn to play them. If one stays away from real pipers there should be no complaints with the way a novice plays. Who but an expert will know if you make a mistake? I have heard some pipes music that sounded like it was all mistakes. Bagpipes are played in many places in the world, but chiefly among the Scots and the Irish. No wonder the Scots are such fierce warriors. I had rather fight ten men armed to the teeth than to hear one bad piper. Bagpipes, in a slightly different form, have been in India for centuries. They were probably there when Alexander the Great invaded. For some reason he paused. History tells us that this is where he wept because he had no more worlds to conquer. I suspect he heard his first bagpipes and decided it was time to go home, where there were only a few stringed instruments and Pan pipes, which do not have bags connected to them and you don’t need fingers. On second thought, do you remember Zamfir, who marketed recordings of his Pan pipes on television? Maybe Alexander went from the frying pan into the fire. No wonder he died shortly after returning home.
I am drifting a bit, but I have been thinking about my goals for the next ten years and I see no reason not to learn to play this instrument. I will have to order it, or them. So how do I do that? Do I ask for “a bagpipe” or for “some bagpipes”? I don’t want to get more than I can handle. I am reminded of the zookeeper in a small Tennessee town that decided a mongoose, the animal that can fight a cobra to the death, would be an attraction. He wrote a letter to an animal supply house, but decided he needed a pair so they could propagate and be more commercially profitable. So he wrote “Dear sir: please send me two mongooses”. This did not look quite right so he crossed it out and wrote “send me two mongeese”, and that did not look right either, so he wrote “send me a mongoose, and while you are at it send me another one”.
If I play the pipes, will I have to wear a kilt? The Hirts are of Germanic origin, and they wear lederhosen. I don’t think a kilt is appropriate for me. I could fake it, but which clan should I claim? I was in the Chipola River Book and Tea Shop recently and my friend Michael is selling authentic tartan neckties. I checked them out but I am not attracted to any of them. If I can get by without wearing kilts, then I will. I have rather knobby knees and a strange scattering of hair on my calves that could be caused by something like male pattern baldness, but I suspect that it is because I have worn boots for too long. And, as an aside, bagpipe music is called “skirling”, which is also defined as a “shrieking noise”. Doesn’t that excite you?
Another problem has popped up. Sneads now has an anti-noise ordinance. A piper has no defense against this. His music is all noise. The ordinance is only enforceable against places that sell alcoholic beverages, though, and I only sell strong drink to my former shipmates that stop by for a visit, so I am probably safe.
Some years ago a man named Boudreau, from Pittsburgh, talked some large companies up there into constructing a self propelled barge that opened up into a bandshell. He was a river pilot and was also the conductor of the American Wind Symphony Orchestra. Each year he would embark the Orchestra and set out down the Mississippi River, presenting concerts as they went to small and large cities. Twice they came up the Apalachicola River to Chattahoochee, and gave us rednecks a taste of excellent classical music. Of course age overtook both the barge and the maestro, and I have no idea what happened after that. But wouldn’t an orchestra on a barge, playing to everyone, be a great idea for our wonderful tri rivers system?
And there is a fair chance that there may soon be an accomplished bagpiper in the area, ready and willing to skirl away!
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