Summer: A Sight to Behold

It’s Wednesday afternoon in Oxford, Mississippi and I’m sweating like an idling drunk on the rocky shoulder of a state highway after midnight. Only I have acquired two DUIs in the past 18 months. And I ran over the judge’s mailbox both times… And I used to bully said judge in high school… And… you get the picture. I’m a dead man in this portrayal. A sweaty dead man.

It’s hot, really hot. There’s no pleasurable way to describe it. I haven’t a clue what “heat index” means or how it’s calculated, but I do know I don’t like it. Does it take into account the simmering motor oil on city streets? Does “heat index” recognize the fact that 2 million industrial-sized grills and smokers could be active at any given hour in this tiny town of fifteen thousand? As Thomas Edison once said, “Barbecuing is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” Truer words have never been spoken. It is hot, but we’ve gotta eat, right? A friend informed me that the heat index was 107 degrees. After jumping in his boiling pool, I assumed he was speaking in terms of degrees Celsius. Oh summertime, you never fail to impress…

According to my Gregorian calendar, Monday was supposedly the first day of summer. If I could contact Mr. Gregory, I’d notify him that summer starts when SEC baseball begins. I prefer to pair my idea of summer with the inaugural tidal wave of humidity, a reintroduction to the concept of sunburn, and an endless round of corndog jokes directed at the Mardi Gras mishaps from Baton Rouge.

I love summers in Mississippi. Most Mississippians would say they don’t even love summers here. I used to agree. Now, I’d say they’ve simply failed to alert themselves to the beauty of Oak-trunk season. Take a seat, because it’s all about the shade, baby.

Today, as I tranquilly reclined in the shady acres of The Grove on the campus of my beloved Ole Miss, I evaluated summer amongst all its fresh-cut glory. I closed my eyes and pictured the tailgating masses on a Saturday afternoon in September. The accelerating picks and foot taps of a local bluegrass band trotted playfully across the brick sidewalk. A flood of “hometown” music overwhelmed me. The reverberations of R.L. Burnside’s guitar perfectly accompanied his legendary .357 declaration, “I didn’t mean to kill nobody… I just meant to shoot the sonofabitch in the head. Him dying was between him and the Lord.” I privately lambasted pedestrians with ear buds, for they were only denying themselves the music of the trees. The senses of summer filled my afternoon. Lawn mowers raged, leaving only the combative odors of gasoline and grass clippings. I admired the bronzed skin, blond hair, and smiling faces that only recently escaped the confining circumstances of winter. A small family of four or five stood naturally around the largest tree of all. Their wedding photos were more James Taylor than Billy Joel. I approved.

None of the cars riding along seemed to be in a hurry, and yet, at the same time they all failed to stop at the stop sign. I figured it was probably too hot to hurry and too lethal to completely cut off the natural breeze from the open windows of a cruising car. I could feel the vibrations of Vaught-Hemingway Stadium across the landscape. Summer was here, and I liked what I saw. And I hope all of you can see it too…

UPDATE!!!

I haven't blogged in awhile...and I really don't have a reason why. I haven't been busy, yet I've ignored my right to disgrace America's school systems through excessive hyperbole and 'round-the-world run-on sentences. Deal with it.

England's Flawed Mentality

Manchester United's choke job in yesterday's UEFA Champions League semifinals has the English media on high alert. With Arsenal having the hard luck of being drawn against Lio Messi & The Barcelonas (my favorite indie band from Europe), Chelsea getting out-classed by their beloved Special One, and Liverpool stinking up the joint months ago, United's loss confirmed the fear that no English Premier League teams will participate in the final four of Europe's top club competition. The headlines across the island read "England Out!" and "Shock Failure for Premier League!". To understand the faults of this mentality, you have to examine England as a whole.

There has always been this absurd idea in England that everyone related to football would rather be on the island than anywhere else on the continent. Over the last 10 years, Premier League pride has grown exponentially. Everyone in England has labeled the Premiership as being vastly superior to any other domestic competition on the globe. As for the pride issue, the media have begun rooting for English teams. During the CSKA/Inter match, the English commentators openly discussed their desire for Arsenal to defeat Barca so they could see Mourinho return to England to face Arsene Wenger's side.

This English inferiority complex has grown too large. Even Andy Gray, my favorite color commentator, seemed to be rooting for the Gunners while in awe of Lionel Messi. Messi's performance also seemed to shock the English, as though they forgot their were quality players outside of England! Other than a hatred of Real Madrid by United and Liverpool supporters from the summer transfers of Cristiano Ronaldo and Xabi Alonso, the English only seem to view Spain as a nice place to go on holiday. Lest we not forget that their is good football in Italy, Germany, and France as well. Sir Alex Ferguson blamed Manchester United's defeat on the "typical Germans" with regards to Rafael's red card. Ferguson's portrayal of England vs. Germany is utterly ridiculous. Bayern had representatives from the Netherlands (Robben and van Bommel), France (Ribery), Croatia (Olic and Pranjic), Turkey (Altintop), Argentina (Demichelis), and Belgium (Van Buyten) participate in the match. That's 8 non-Germans. Not surprisingly, United were no more English than Bayern were German. Fergie's team had players from the Netherlands (van der Sar), Serbia (Vidic), France (Evra), Brazil (Rafael), Northern Ireland (Gibson), Scotland (Fletcher), Portugal (Nani), Ecuador (Valencia) in his starting lineup! Only THREE English players started for United (Ferdinand, Carrick, Rooney). Even worse, United brought Ryan Giggs (Wales), John O'Shea (Ireland), and Dimitar Berbatov (Bulgaria) off the bench. That's 11 players from 11 different nations that represented United in the match.

I don't expect the pundits to depart with their oft-used "best league in the world" tagline, but I hope they cut out this outright rooting. It reminds me of people in the southeastern United States being stunned when no SEC football team makes the BCS Championship game. How could a team from the best league NOT make the championship!?! I expect the English to completely tune out the rest of the Champions League, but I'd suggest they watch. It will be a great opportunity to see the likes of Arjen Robben (remember him), Franck Ribery, Wesley Snjeider, Samuel Eto'o, Maicon, Lisandro Lopez, and more magic from Lio Messi & The Barcelonas. Just make sure you nibble on your fish and chips while watching, forget your English ways and declare "damn, these guys are great!" Who are they again?

Note to Self

I never want another "Irish Car-Bomb" in my life. At least not until next weekend.

alcohol + sunburn + 2 hours in a hot tub = 2 days recovery, minimum

Jackson, Mississippi, for the 4th consecutive year, had no garbage cans or recycling bins available during the St. Paddy's Day Parade.

How did I end up at Malcolm's annual bash??

Never, ever, under any circumstance, volunteer for cooler duty.

Native Americans were on to something with those tipis.

Ole Miss basketball is amazing when no one watches or cares anymore.

I doubt college baseball fans in the state of Kentucky are very fond of us right about now. Seriously Louisville, Stone Cold Steve Austin should stun everyone of you fools.

This healthcare debate is really entertaining. News channels did everything except report the news today. Ten hours of politicized bickering. And honestly, why would any Congressman want to go on Fox News when their "anchors" openly yell and berate them. They're like any angry pack of Miss USA participants. Get 'em Trump.

Next time I need to get a point across, remember to ingore any case building tactics and resort to decibel ascention.

Led Zeppelin = The #1 cause of unconscious speeding (at least 20 mph over the speed limit) on U.S. highways.

0-3 = Al & Yowza's record against the mighty Rish/Hood dynasty in cornhole Saturday.

7+ = Number of times the imaginary sniper took down Tuckleberry or Yowza.

0 = Number of times said sniper took down anyone else.

Back In Action

A week ago, I had an itch for some home cooking, so I did what I always do. I went on a culinary vacation to my parent's house in Brandon, Mississippi. I stopped by the new Five Guys Burgers and Fries at Renaissance on my journey, and can confirm that it really does live up to the hype. So after a week of feasting, chasing my displaced dog, drinking too much (sorry Matt, Jordan, Al, Tara), and soaking up some rays, I'm back in Oxford and ready for action. The only problem... everyone is gone!

Yes, it is that magical time of year known as Spring Break. I'm sad to say that the words Spring Break no longer light my lamp like they once did. Since early December, I have been on an amazing streak of holiday; Therefore, I have no reason to believe that this week is any different than the last. I'd like to wish everyone safe travels as they head to the Florida panhandle, the Rocky Mountains, or any other delightful destinations.

As for me, I plan on enjoying some college baseball (the Rebs play Louisville @ Swayze), the SEC and NCAA basketball tournaments, a John Mayer concert (FedEx Forum), St. Patrick's Day festivities (what a great excuse to binge drink?), and a writing trip to Clarksdale for some Blues exploration. I'm sad to say I'll be missing Malcolm White's St. Paddy's Day Parade for the first time in 5 years, but honestly, I've earned a year off from the Sweet Potato Queen mayhem. I'm sure my pals will represent my interests valiantly. Anyone else spending the next 10 days in Oxford is welcome to join my brother and myself in a sunlit lawnchair with drink in hand.

Cheers