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

"Date" Gone Wrong

Two weeks ago, a friend I had not seen or spoken to in months called for a favor. I’ll call this friend Belinda for the sake of discretion and because “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” by Belinda Carlisle is blaring on my iTunes right now. You know you like that song. So, “Favor” was how Belinda worded her request. Her definition of “favor” happens to be very blurry and is possibly a thinly-veiled synonym of “trap”. She called to ask if I would be her “date” the following night with two of her friends and their “dates”. I use quotations around the word date because that is what her voice implied over the telephone. I know what the word DATE means, but I’m not so sure about the word “DATE”. Now I’ve known Belinda for a couple of years, but never have I thought she was “interested” in me or vice versa. (Note: I’m definitely going to set a record for single-word quotations in this post.) I agreed to go out with her and the rest of the unnamed foursome.

We ate dinner at Lenora’s, in the old L&M’s, and it is a really cool, funky place with good food. If you haven’t been in there, you should check it out. Belinda refused to let me pay for our third of the bill, so I counter-offered with the “well…okay…I’ll buy the drinks later” line (the group had already planned to go hear some tunes at Rooster’s). Other than actually consenting to the “date”, I think the “I’ll buy the drinks later” line was my primary screw-up. Many twenty-something females have it engrained in their mind that guys who offer to buy drinks are “interested” in them. In a lot of cases, this theory is correct. Unfortunately in my situation, Belinda got the wrong idea.

See, Belinda happens to be a sweet, introverted, naïve young lady who still seems a little new to the loud music, late-night, binge-drinking society in which she is immersed. In contrast, I spent my last two years of high school and the past five years of college life partaking in such ill-advised rituals.

At Rooster’s, I followed through on my offer of buying Belinda’s drinks while also encouraging the rest of the group to follow me to the “dancing area” in front of the stage. Some rhythm-less people choose to stand aside and nod their heads during the whole show, but I have one of those flimsy baby necks so that is not an option for me. Okay, I’m lying. After a certain number of drinks, I begin to believe I am James Brown and then I go nuts. Fortunately for me, my remarkable talent for rallying peer pressure caused everyone to join me in some type of raucous zombie-dance. The hippies of the ‘60s would have certainly been impressed by the dancing exhibited by my seemingly “square” companions. Belinda and I danced for most of the night and everybody seemed to have a grand time. Apparently Belinda had too much fun. She slipped in an innocent kiss on my cheek while we danced and I thought nothing of it. When she attempted to drag me outside, I knew I was in for some trouble. I thought my best strategy would be to get her some water and keep her dancing with one of her friends. She responded by attempting to initiate one of those awful, standing-at-the-bar make-out sessions. I quickly avoided it by initiating a massive bear hug. This really is the only good option that doesn’t involve turning and running. My new strategy was to discreetly avoid eye contact.

More problems arose at closing time when everybody in our group was intoxicated, thus unable to drive. Unfortunately, we had discussed the fact that I live a short walk from the Square during dinner, so the peer pressure tactics I had already implemented were glaring back at me. We began the trek towards my residence, but everybody wanted a chicken-on-a-stick from Chevron. At the crowded convenience store, a massive stroke of luck appeared in the form of an empty taxi. I sneakily mentioned to one of the guys that they could take a cab home, and he agreed that was a good plan. I even offered to take him to his car the next morning. The problem occurred when smiley-faced Belinda began to hint that she would rather stay at my place than ride home with her friends. For most guys, this might seem like an awesome opportunity. All I could picture was her expressionless father, whom I had met at a football game a year earlier, smashing my head in with a 9-iron. I certainly was no expert on Belinda’s love life, but I could certainly tell by the look on her friends’ faces that this was not her typical Friday night. So how could I get Belinda into the cab without directly saying “you can’t stay with me?”

I tried to get one of the other girls to encourage her, but that didn’t work. Fortunately I remembered that her friends had mentioned that they had all “gotten ready” at Belinda’s condo. (I’m getting really tired of typing “Belinda”. I really wish Joni Mitchell had been playing on my computer at the beginning of this post.) I cleverly questioned one of the other girls as to whether they were staying at Belinda’s. Then I played the sympathetic “you can’t just leave your friends” card. Somehow, it worked. Ultimately, I made it home alone and alive.

It was a landmark occasion. I was proud of myself. It was possibly the first time I had exerted effort to not hookup with someone. I had turned down a beautiful girl for the first time in my life. Maybe I was not simply a hormone induced male, but instead a conscientious person. Shocking, I know. I was actually imagining seeing Belinda’s father in the Grove next year so I could shake his ice-cold hand with the confidence that he wouldn’t pound his sand-wedge into my overly inflated cranium. Well, I got it all wrong.

Belinda definitely thought I was “interested” in her, and the following day the flood of text messages began. She wanted to go out again on Saturday. I made up an excuse. She wanted to “grab lunch” on Sunday. I didn’t respond. Monday through Friday consisted of constant, meaningless chatter in which I would attempt to be completely polite and uninteresting. It didn’t work. The constant gossip continued along with my pitiful excuses. So last week, I thought I would do the mature thing and just call her and explain the situation. She immediately turned from cute, domestic house cat into vicious, blood-thirsty tiger.

I started by explaining that I thought she was a wonderful, beautiful girl, but that I just wasn’t really interested in dating anyone. This brought out the claws. She hit me with the “you led me on” rant. I calmly disputed the claim and told her that I really did appreciate her asking me to go with her on the “date” (that word is cursed), but that I simply didn’t like her like that. That’s when she went bonkers. Belinda claimed that I was trying to make-out with her at the bar and that she almost went home with me because I was “blatantly inviting her.” Whew, I didn’t know how to respond so I just laughed. This is where I tell any male out there who has suffered through this lengthy story that laughing during an argument with an angry woman (she was quickly elevated from “precocious 22 year old” status to “angry scorpion woman” status) will get you slaughtered. For the sake of ending this painful conversation with a person whom I genuinely thought was a nice girl and friend, I relentlessly apologized for any confusion I may have caused and got off the phone. Well, to make things even more exciting, I saw one of the other girls from “date night” at Kroger two days ago. I smiled awkwardly and asked her how she was doing. Not only did she fail to dignify my comment, she also gave me a Meryl Streep in “Devil Wears Prada” death stare. Yes, I watched that movie with my mother, don’t hate.

So what’s the theme of all this? I think it’s quite apparent. KIDS, MAKE SURE YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF ANY MEMBER OF THE OPPOSITE SEX WHO OBVIOSLY WANTS TO HOOK-UP WITH YOU. IT’S MUCH EASIER TO JUST DO IT. Okay, that last sentence doesn’t sound right, but I’m sure you get the gist.

America, you’re welcome.

Spring Needs

There is one problem with this picture. Step 1: Using the unnecessary table cloth, sling all of the space-consuming items aside. Step 2: Cover table with:

Next, add friends. I'd post a picture, but my friends are really ugly. I kid, of course. We'll take Colt, he loves mud, and sand is really just dehydrated mud.

Also, good tunes are a must.

Lastly, some adult beverages and you're set.

The month of May, 85 degrees and sunny, the smell of the ocean, and the care-free life can't get here soon enough.

Two months to go, let the countdown begin.

Play It Safer than Safe

So I completely abandoned a late-night tonight. Genius maneuver. The hawks were circling. I'll be able to attend tomorrow's baseball game without the consequences. I'll say it again, genius maneuver. Otherwise, I exhibited less than spectacular hula hoop skills tonight. Considering I don't have any knowledge of shaking my hips without the aid of alcohol, it was completely unsurprising to find myself inept. The hula hoop girl actually wrote down my email and sent me a message offering lessons. I'm assuming she eats boys alive and takes advantage of the naive, so I responded by claiming it was Colonel Reb's email address. Her response? Oh, I'm so sorry. She apparently was unconscious this past week. I was hoping she would request Admiral Ackbar. Maybe next time. There was a solid crowd for the Clean Sneak show at Parrish's (shout out to Slinky, AR, Barrett, Narada, and Hilton). Solid outing and great thanks to the friendly ladies who drove me home, allowing me to avoid the frozen walk down Lamar and Pierce.

Cheers kids,

Summer Music Festivals Close to Home

Over the last five years, summer tours have become dominated by festivals. For everyone in Mississippi and surrounding states, this is a welcomed change. Being that our part of the country is known for its relatively low population density, large musical acts generally avoided our territory. Now, that has all changed. Thanks to the longterm success of New Orleans' Jazz & Heritage Festival, and more recently Austin City Limits, Bonnaroo, and Beale Street Music Festival, the festival scene has continued to grow. Don't waste an opportunity to see some of your favorite acts all at the same time. Here's a taste of what's on offer this summer:

SXSW - Austin, Texas
http://sxsw.com/music
March 17-21

New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival - New Orleans, Louisiana
http://www.nojazzfest.com/
First Weekend - April 23,24,25
Major Acts:
My Morning Jacket, Allman Brothers Band, Simon & Garfunkel, Black Crowes, Dr. John, Lionel Richie, Better Than Ezra, Darius Rucker, George Clinton Parlament/Funkadelics, Levon Helm, Big Sam's Funky Nation, Blind Boys of Alabama


Second Weekend - April 29,30, May 1,2
Major Acts:
Pearl Jam, Van Morrison, Widespread Panic, B.B. King, Jeff Beck, The Neville Brothers, Elvis Costello, Aretha Franklin, Gov't Mule, Old Crow Medicine Show, Galactic, Blues Traveler, Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue, Allen Toussaint

Beale Street Music Festival - Memphis, Tennessee
April 30, May 1,2
http://www.thebealestreetmusicfestival.com/
Major Acts:
The Memphis In May artist lineup will be announced on Thursday, March 4th.


The Hangout Beach, Music, & Arts Festival - Gulf Shores, Alabama
http://hangoutmusicfest.com/
May 14,15,16
Major Acts:
Ben Harper & Relentless7, Trey Anastasio & TAB, Zac Brown Band, Ray LaMontagne, John Legend, Michael Franti and Speahead, Rodrigo y Gabriela, Gov't Mule, Girl Talk, The Black Crowes, Alison Kraus & Union Station, Ozomatli, Keller Williams, North Mississippi All Stars, The Flaming Lips, Back Door Slam


Wakarusa - Ozark, Arkansas
http://www.wakarusa.com/
June 3,4,5,6
Major Acts:
Widespread Panic, Robert Randolph & The Family Band, John Butler Trio, JJ Grey & MOFRO, STS9, Umphrey's McGee, Slightly Stoopid, The Black Keys, Blues Traveler, Lotus, ALO, Yo Mama's Big Fat Booty Band, and friend of the blog ZOOGMA


Bonnaroo - Manchester, Tennessee
http://www.bonnaroo.com
June 10,11,12,13
Major Acts:
Kings of Leon, Dave Matthews Band, Stevie Wonder, John Butler Trio, Norah Jones, Jay-Z, Jimmy Cliff, The Avett Brothers, Jeff Beck, Jimmy Cliff, The Flaming Lips performing "Darkside of the Moon", Tenacious D, Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, Damian Marley & Nas, Les Claypool, The Black Keys, John Prine, Weezer, Kris Kristofferson, Cross Canadian Ragweed, Blues Traveler, Zac Brown Band, The Disco Biscuits


Austin City Limits Music Festival - Austin, Texas
http://www.aclfestival.com/default.aspx
October 8,9,10
The Austin City Limits lineup has not been announced.


I'll be enjoying the 2nd weekend of Jazz Fest and also Wakarusa. I'm willing to bet that I'll make it to either the Friday or Saturday shows of Memphis in May as well. I hope everybody takes advantage of these great options.

Cheers

Random Thoughts

I have recently been in the zone with regards to my various writing projects, so unfortunately I have neglected the blog. Don't fret my friends, here's a little exercise I like to do occasionally to get the ole brain ticking. I give myself 5 minutes to write down every thought or idea that pops into my head. Here she blows:

Tiger Woods sucks at apologizing for cheating on his wife. He went to Stanford? He can barely read. If he had just been faithful to his wife, he could have spared the entire world the pain of that 14 minutes of indecipherable blabber. OOHHHH..BLOG SHOUT OUT!

I'm addicted to coffee. Do they make patches for that?

Bob Costas and Stephen Colbert = Definitely toupee wearers.

I'm going to write a book of songs and hide it with directions to give it to a talented artist to use after I die, that way I can either a.) avoid the horrific critical reaction or b.) be classified alongside Tupac, Jimi Hendrix, and Dimebag Darrell. That's 3 classy gents. Also, if the music sucks, they can blame it on the performer.

I had a dream last night that Jerry Stiller and Wanda Sykes got married. I have no clue what that means.

Tracy Morgan stopped trying so hard and now he actually is funny. I stopped trying hard about 2 years ago and now I'm uneducated and unemployed.

I'm starting to feel like Jeremy Piven's character in PCU.

This cliche "Cardiac Kids" nickname I've heard the Ole Miss basketball team labeled with twice tonight is entirely unsuitable. They should be the "Band-aids don't resolve BLUNT TRAUMA TO THE HEAD!" Kids. If you don't get that metaphor, sorry. If you do, sorry. Seriously, I'm pretty sure my cerebral sinuses are bleeding, I just haven't noticed yet.

This is my 6th cup of coffee today.

Do old people always have caramels in their pocket?

I think Columbia might be putting a little of that magic nose candy in my coffee. This stuff is exceptional. I'm too high right now to determine whether I'm high or not.

Tiger should have taken a hint from Sarah Palin and written "I'm sorry" on his hand.

I've probably urinated 20 times today.

The no-smoking in bars law must really increase the heating bills at local watering holes. Local establishments seem excessively hot at the moment, and like everything else, I'm blaming the smokers.

Why is it so cold in Mississippi? We have either freezing cold or 100% humidity 300 days out of the year.

What's the difference in figure skating and ice dancing? Why are there 4 brother/sister pairs in ice dancing? Creepy. The fact that I know there are 4 sibling ice-dancing pairs, creepy.

Thankfully 5 minutes has passed... I need a refill.

"Modes" of Description

I’ve spent the last few days reviewing and editing much of the completed portions of my screenplay, and I’ve tried to isolate character features. The main “funny-guy” character in the movie is definitely my favorite right now. I’ve based the character’s actions on a few of my friends (most prominently Chandler Ferris and Ryan Pennick), but the character’s thought process is probably best described as befuddled. One tendency of mine that I have incorporated into the character is my all too common penchant for saying someone is in “(Insert Peculiar Person, Thing, Attitude, etc) Mode” when I’m trying to describe their actions. If it’s something undesirable, which it normally is, I generally offer my theory for correcting the act. It is actually a very fun game when your with friends at a boring bar. I’ve set aside the best ones my friends and I have come up with over the years for possible use in the screenplay, but so you can visually grasp what I am describing, here are a few (I’ll post more later) examples I know I won’t use:

“Biggie Puffy” Mode – This is when a small guy with an inferiority complex wears one of those massive, puffy jackets that visually makes him appear 75 pounds heavier than reality. The majority of these cloaks come in obnoxious, glow-in-the-dark colors such as Freddie Mercury Enamel (neon yellow). Like Notorious BIG, these perpetrators often have that highly recognizable “I smell shit” look on their face.

How do you reverse “Biggie Puffy” Mode when necessary?
My favorite technique is simply tossing (remember he only weighs 15 pounds) this poser into a large body of water and watching him sink in his imitation life jacket. I hear playing Tupac works just as effectively, but there is a risk of being shot 64 times.

“I Think I’m Hot, But I’m Not” Mode – This specifically involves females who don’t know how to cover themselves properly. Think Rosie O’Donnell in some Lindsey Lohan outfit (or lack thereof). One of my pals has suggested we rename this one “When did Charles Barkley Become a Hooker?” Mode.

How do you reverse “I Think I’m Hot, But I’m Not” Mode?
This one requires either a quick rubber-band-like pop of that exposed elastic G-string strap or presenting Debbie Downer with wooden plaque that reads Funniest “Rosie O’Donnell in Lindsey Lohan’s Clothes” Costume!. If she continues to sport such attire, well, that’s just the city of Starkville’s problem.

“Andy Kennedy’s Wife” Mode – This involves a wife filing a lawsuit against a tortfeasor (thank you wikipedia) for “loss of consortium”, which I’ve concluded pretty much means Momma hasn’t had an orgasm in a while and is very angry about it.

How do you reverse “Andy Kennedy’s Wife” Mode?
Well since I’ve never had sex with any husbands, I’m assuming the wife should know better than me, but I’m willing to recommend that she go back to doing whatever it was that caused the poor guy to marry her. No gentlemen, this does not mean you should give her a wooden plaque that reads “Best Lindsey Lohan in Rosie O’Donnell Clothes” Costume! Everybody knows Lindsey Lohan is a whore, and calling your wife a prostitute won’t solve anything.

Well, I hope you grasped the concept. If you catch yourself people watching any time this week, give it a shot!

Cheers blokes,
Courtesy “George Lopez” Mode

* If you don’t get that self-depreciating joke, you’re either (a.) a biased Mexican-American, (b.) dim-witted (thank you Microsoft Word “synonym for the word stupid” creator), or (c.) Carlos Mencia

Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Being that today is Fat Tuesday, several Oxford establishments are throwing Mardi Gras parties tonight. And if you know me, I plan on being there and expect everyone else to do the same. To quote Jim Gaffigan, "I've got some sinnin' to do!"

At The Lyric tonight, Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe returns to Oxpatch for the first time since their amazing performance at Double Decker 2009. Denson was once a member of Lenny Kravitz’s band, but now spends his time with Tiny Universe and Jon Foreman of the band Switchfoot. Denson and Co. are known for their funky grooves and “acid jazz” sound.

Down the street at Proud Larry’s, Mayhem 88 (members of Mayhem String Band and Rocket 88) and Jimbo Mathus and The Tri-State Coalition will headline the Krewe of Larry’s party. If you’re an Oxford local, you know it doesn’t get any more fun than these local acts.

Likewise, Taylor’s Pub will be hosting their Krewe of Taylor’s party featuring CadillacFunk on the stage (shout out to Narada on the sax).

If you couldn’t make it to New Orleans or Rio de Janeiro, these three parties are the next best thing. So what are ya’lls plans? I’m going to attempt the Mardi Gras trifecta and make it to portions of all three!

Turn up the Dr. John and LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL!

The Music Is In My Head and In My Bed

Yesterday, I accomplished a million tiny tasks. Okay, it was more like five, but that’s two weeks worth of effort for me. They were all things I’ve been meaning to do, but for some reason or another (laziness + HBO) I had put them off until Monday. This turned out to be the perfect day for knocking out errands. It snowed most of the day, which caused many people to halt their daily routines. So I went into “Tiger Woods’ Assistant” mode and did the dirty work. Obviously, instead of paying hookers and buying condoms I was only paying the electric bill and buying a card for a friend, but such insignificant differences needn’t be mentioned. While parading around town in light snow, I realized I listen to way too much music. At the electric department, Square Books (pictured below), Kroger, and two other boutiques on the Square whose names I don’t know, I probably heard around 15 songs. As I walked home from Newks with my lunch, I realized that I knew every song I had heard. I used to think I was a snotty music fan with picky tastes, but I have come to realize that I am just the opposite. Throughout the day, I heard “It Makes No Difference” by The Band, “Cowboy Take Me Away” by the Dixie Chicks, “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones, “Excuse Me Mr.” by Ben Harper, “Sweet Southern Comfort” by Buddy Jewell, “Southern Girl” by Amos Lee, “Doctor My Eyes” by Jackson Browne, “Take It On the Run” by REO Speedwagon, “Better Life” by Keith Urban, “Somewhere” by Oxford favorite Sanders Bohlke, “Dear Momma” by Tupac Shakur, “Brick” by Ben Folds Five, and “Heaven Is A Place On Earth” by Belinda Carlisle. The most shocking thing about it was the fact that I knew the artists, song titles, and words to all of them. I’m beginning to notice that I listen to music all day, every day. I listen to music while I read, write, eat, clean, and shower. I’ve come to realize that I even listen to music while I watch television, which I can’t explain. I’m beginning to wonder if I would ever go anywhere if they didn’t have music playing softly in the background. Oh well, I need to stop writing so I can go to bed. Tonight I’ll be relying on Van Morrison to put me to sleep...

How do you want to be remembered?

Selflessness is lacking. People are left needing, hurting, begging and praying. Haiti is only the latest in a seemingly endless line of tragic events that appear to target the under equipped nations of the world. Over the last five weeks or so, I’ve written roughly 10 to 15 essays that I deemed good enough to save and file away. Since I have very low standards for myself, I actually keep all of the garbage that I write. Within many of my compositions, I’m beginning to notice a “preaching” tone. All too often I focus on the big picture, examples being the Haiti tragedy and the sadly ignored worldwide water crisis. I feel as though I’ve been looking at the world through one eye, completely ignoring the local efforts within reach.

Sure, it’s great to think and act upon large-scale issues, but does our naivety result in ignorance towards efforts in our own communities? I’ve come to the realization that I have all but ignored many of the efforts within the Oxford area, instead focusing on international interests. I’ve donated around $95 to the Haiti effort (Doctors without Borders, RedCross, Yele, Parrish’s Fundraiser), but yet the only times I’ve donated money to local efforts are when live music is involved. After 4 years in Oxford, I’m guessing I’ve donated $15 to the Yocona River Inn reconstruction project (Proud Larry’s show) and $10 to the Oxford Animal Shelter (Farmhouse fundraiser party; Props to Preston for that one). I’ve had the phone number of Oxford’s Big Brothers/Big Sisters program on my nightstand for the last year. I mean to call, but I haven’t, and that isn’t good enough. I’ve intended to spend an afternoon at the animal shelter helping their undermanned staff, but I watch crappy daytime television instead. These are only two examples, but you get the picture.

William Winter once spoke of Eudora Welty’s “unfailing faith in the basic goodness of the everyday people that she knew and loved and her disdain for the arrogant and the pompous.” Governor Winter’s words have stuck in my head and I think about them often. I think we all, to varying degrees, have a desire to help and bring happiness to the lives of others. Our faults lie within a simple failure to commit the effort, even when it is something as simple as taking a dog for a walk or tossing around a football with a disadvantaged kid. These simple acts also serve to keep our feet planted on the ground with an eye on what really matters. Within today’s self-absorbed, frenzied world, everyone could use an unconventional mirror.

When we fear that our goals exceed our means of contribution, we should accept the challenge and embrace the qualities with which we have all been blessed. We all should force ourselves to spend a Sunday afternoon volunteering somewhere new. Who knows, we might actually find something we enjoy more than “Saved by the Bell” reruns. Take some books to a local orphanage and read to the children. You might just find yourself with twenty new friends who think you’re awesome. The pursuit of improving someone else’s quality of life will undoubtedly be reciprocated. Too often I forget that the benefit comes from the effort, not the ideal. Life is fragile, take pride in your legacy. How do you want the people in your life to remember you? Together we can all improve the world, even in our own backyards. All you need is a little effort and an “unfailing faith” in your neighbors.

Your preaching neighbor,
Hunter Hood

If You Can't Laugh at Yourself, You Can Always Laugh at Others

As expected, the Valentine's Day weekend provided an abundance of awkward moments in the world of people watching. The first humorous moment occurred at Old Venice Pizza on Friday evening. While Drunk John (now that’s a nickname you want on your resume) and I were contemplating our options for the night, I noticed a young couple sitting next to the window. They were each holding glasses of red wine, and the guy, entering rico suave mode, swirled and smelled the wine like he was the Maxwell Smart of food critics. The girl’s smiley giggles immediately became an outright blush when the guy suddenly erupted into a sneezing fit with his nose nearly dipped in wine. Being a perpetrator of Mel Brooks-style gaffes myself, I refuse to knock the man for trying to impress his date (I presume sniffing wine is an admirable, albeit sober quality). This was a sign of things to come.

When we were upstairs at Old Venice (formally known as The Burgundy Room) enjoying the pleasures of a college-town signature event, two-for-one drinks, we witnessed a guy spill his date’s wine onto her white coat. Another guy, attempting to impress his female companion, politely seated his date and slid her chair forward before seating himself. The only problem was that his “slide” was more of a shove, resulting in a crushing knee-to-table collision for the seated lady. Remember, these moments of genius all occurred within a two hour time span.

Later, there was a haphazard display of girl on girl crime. The offender was a young woman who happened to be smoking alone on the balcony at The Burgundy room. She appeared to be dateless, likely the result of her nicotine habit, unsightly tattoo, violet hair, and depressingly Emo lifestyle. I'm not really sure what Emo is, but she fit my description of what a Fall Out Boy fan looks like. The offended party in this scene was a young, naïve-looking girl who appeared to be happily charmed by her equally baby-faced date. Unfortunately for the pint-sized lass below, the culprit upstairs had no problem littering on the streets of our fine town. She probably kills one innocent puppy per day, not by listening to Fall Out Boy (though that is debatable), but by throwing her cancer sticks like a fetch toy. So the obvious occurred and a cigarette butt fell into the hair of the girl below. At this point, our Angelina Jolie wannabe had snuck back inside while the girl below shrieked at pitches only known to man’s best friend. This resulted in people sitting in the dining rooms and balconies of both City Grocery and Old Venice Pizza to alertly gaze upon the teary-eyed victim. It was a regretful sight, but I’m sure karma retaliated by setting the cigarette-slinger on fire. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.

My favorite moment of the weekend was Saturday night at Parrish's “Haiti/RedCross Fundraiser”. An older couple, appearing to be in their fifties, was taking in the occasion amongst a flock of mid-twenties partiers. My new pal Ron (Señor Smoothie) introduced me to the couple and I decided to join them at the end of the bar. The wife explained to me that she and her husband were out this particular evening because her Valentine’s Day gift wish was “a night of dancing and being a college kid again.” She portrayed her husband as regrettably embracing the idea, which he suitably denied by ordering drinks for everyone. The lovely couple was only secondary to the humor on this night. After the band (Hoarsebox, courtesy Sweet Tea Recording Studio and the Republic of Ireland) cranked up the tunes, my elder friends set a good example for the rest of the crowd by taking to the dance floor (not really a dance floor…more like an empty space that tempts hip-swingers). The laughter occurred when a girl who appeared to be slightly tipsy (monumentally smashed) thought she would drag her date/boyfriend to the front of the crowd and mock her senior square-steppers. Fortunately for everyone rooting for the home team, the young lady immediately lost her balance, hit the deck, and limped away, leaving her embarrassed, male companion to fetch her purse and right shoe. If only the “cigarette-butt in her hair” girl could have taken solace in such fireworks!

Overall, it was a swell weekend filled with memorable shenanigans. I hope everyone enjoyed themselves as well and will remember to keep up the insanity around February 14, 2011. I certainly love holidays, so I’ll be celebrating Presidents’ Day tomorrow by sleeping till noon, eating an afternoon feast, and generally displeasing the American public.

My Valentine's Duty

So with Valentine’s Day scheduled for Sunday (Shouldn’t the Hallmark people have consulted with the restaurant owners? Sundays stink in terms of business.), this weekend will inevitably be a showcase event for many men across the nation. So what is Papa Hood going to do about it? Well, I’m going to provide backup support for any struggling comrade who appears to be blowing the date of his life. How, you say? Firstly, I’m going to wear a super-sized earpiece. From all the movies I’ve ever seen, massive ear equipment is definitely necessary when providing backup. Also, I’ll be on the lookout for couples sitting in awkward silence at Oxford’s fine-dining establishments. To cut the tension, I’ll be discreetly slipping jokes to my fellow brethren. Imagine this:

Tommy really likes Sandy, but doesn’t know how to tell her. Here are a couple of jokes that will save the day!

Tommy: So Sandy, what did the bulb say to the switch?
Sandy: Um, eh, I….don’t know? (exaggerated shoulder shrug, Sandy’s go-to move)
Tommy: YOU TURN ME ON!!! Booyakasha, fist bumb, high five, fist pump. Outstanding work Tommy, that one rocked!

Okay, how about this doozie of a one-liner:

Tommy: Hey Sandy, what did the paper clip say to the magnet?
Sandy: Um, ahh…eh…(Sandy’s a little slow)…hmh…I DON’T KNOW TOMMY, WHAT DID THE PAPER CLIP SAY TO THE MAGNET? (Sandy really likes jokes)
Tommy: I FIND YOU VERY ATTRACTIVE!!!
Sandy: Wow Tommy, I never knew you were so funny…I think I love you.

Tommy, you're welcome. America, you're next.

Well, now you can see for yourself how awesome my public service project is this weekend. If I’m really on my game, I might just spark off an engagement or two. If you’ve read my blog before, you know I’ve already ruined one wedding.

My final duty involves candy. Specifically, Reese’s peanut butter cups. Everybody and their drunk uncle knows that the ladies have sickly cravings for chocolate around February 14th. So what’s the best remedy? Those little creamy, melt-in-your-mouth buttercups that make you say “oh!” For the sake of full disclosure, I just stole that sentence from an R. Kelly song. That leads me to my next suggestion. Never, under any circumstance, recite R. Kelly lyrics to your special someone and think you’re being “romantic”. The words cocoa butter and juicy booty will only get you in the dog house. And by dog house, I mean a lifetime of sucking up.

So guys, endure your romantic occasion with confidence because I’ll be in full blown Jason Bourne mode to back you up. And remember, no excessive drinking, no cursing, don’t make eye contact with another woman the whole time, let her talk and pick the music in the car (or go with "I'd Rather Be With You" by Joshua Radin, it's a big hit with the skirts), never stop nodding your head yes, and tell her she’s pretty. If all goes right, she might let you be nice to her again.

Good luck kiddos

Lyrical Destruction

So I was sitting on the balcony of City Grocery one afternoon last week when I realized that I live a lavishly lovable life. Actually, there is nothing lavish about my life, I just wanted to incorporate a little alliteration into this blog to educate you nimrods. Ha, I'm so good I knocked that baby out in the first sentence. I wouldn't call you nimrod, but judging by your choice of literature at the moment you don't exactly project "I love Shakespeare". For you non-Oxpatch residents, City Grocery is not a grocery nor, by my population-based definition, in a city. But hey, that's up for debate.

Anyways, they serve up some mean beverages for the standard happy hour crowd. On this particular day, I met a friend who was looking for a break from his miserable life as a full-time law student. As I've already mentioned, we sat on the balcony, which happens to be a damn stupid idea when it's -100 degrees outside. Apparently I was hanging out with cigarette smoking zombies who are capable of resisting any temperature to satisfy their nicotine cravings. On another note, do Eskimos leave the igloo to smoke or do they even have access to tobacco products? During the time we were there, I met a local business owner with whom I set up an appointment to discuss job opportunities.

The next day I met with the aforementioned business owner and explained to him that I am an amateur writer. Through the course of conversation, he told me he was getting married in April and was struggling with putting together his vows. It's safe to say he had consumed one too many gin and tonics. I'm kidding, it was ten o'clock in the morning and I was not meeting with Joe Naimath. The afternoon before, I had promised to bring him a short-story that I submitted for a contest. He read a couple of passages while I took a phone call and seemed to like it. I know what you're thinking, it's stupid to take a phone call during a "job interview", but believe me when I say there was an important soccer match taking place in England of which I needed to be updated. I don't know what he liked about my cynical prose or highly disguised pop culture references, but now he wanted me to help him with his wedding vows! I nearly pooped my pants, but to appease my desire for public service, I thought I'd help him out. I'm no Mother Theresa, but I could make Papa Hood fashionable. Wow, what a mistake.

So what should I do? I told him I would help, but I was secretly hoping he would never bring it up again. But once again, I found a way to make this awkward situation worse. While devouring a bag of Sour Patch Kids (you know you like them) and watching Seinfeld reruns the other day, I devised a plan. I've determined that he should use some lyrics from his fiancé’s favorite love song. Sounds corny doesn't it. I know, genius.

So this afternoon, I paid a visit to my newfound pal and informed him of my idea. Not only did he like it, he cracked a couple of beers and suggested we pick a song right then and there. Not that this wasn't already a completely ridiculous endeavor (sorry for the double negative, damn grammar police), but his song choices sent me into a hysterical state of laughter. His proposed songs were "Everything I Do" by Brian Adams, "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion, and "How Do I Live" by LeAnn Rimes. Sure, these are better than "Baby Got Back", but isn't there another unique song she likes that doesn't bring tears to the eyes of single women everywhere. I was secretly hoping that they were honeymooning in the Carribean so he could use "Two Tickets to Paradise" by Eddie Money, but I never brought it up. I regret ever mentioning this absurd plan.

Honestly, this idea is as stupid as buying a card at Hallmark and thinking "Hmm, I'd say that." Now that this idea is in his head, and he certainly seems to like it, how do I prevent him from actually doing it? Well, I haven't figured that one out yet. Otherwise, if you're attending an Oxford wedding in the near future, please share my hope that he doesn't choose the Titanic theme song because that ship might crash. And by ship I mean wedding, and by wedding I mean life. I guess it could be worse. Just imagine him reciting some raunchy 90's R&B track. At that point, I'd begin to worry whether his fiancé owned a weapon.

Your unofficial wedding destroyer,
Hunter Hood

About My Blog

I suppose I should start by writing a mission statement for my blog, but that requires something I completely lack, a mission. I miraculously graduated in December from the beautiful University of Mississippi (affectionately known as Ole Miss to all the special people in the world) in Oxford, MS with a Bachelors of Science in Biology. By finishing school in December, I hit the ultimate jackpot. Let me explain:

1. Ole Miss doesn't have a ceremony for December grads, so I completely avoided that "let's take 4 million pictures" day.
2. I'm stuck in a lease until the end of July. That might not sound great to you, but it gives me a concrete reason to continue to reside in this wonderfully quirky town.
3. There are no real career opportunities readily available after December graduation, so I conveniently do not feel obliged to work full time.
4. I won't miss a single Ole Miss basketball, baseball, tennis, track & field, ping pong, chinese checkers, or scrabble competition all spring due to "academic" reasons. By the way, if you need your tent set up during busy baseball weekends, I think your wallet and my free time could make an arrangement.
5. No 8 a.m. biology classes. Duh.

Okay, so I only could think of five, but I'm quite certain there are a million reasons. Due to my abundance of free time (well, maybe inexpensive time is more appropriate) I am currently working on several writing projects. I'm currently the middle of writing one of the worst screenplays ever, but it is very funny if I say so myself. In fact, that's a warning. If you have ever done something regrettable in front of me, I have probably included it in my movie. A friend of mine has suggested that I should turn the script into a book about crazy college stories, which would be a clever excuse for traveling to college campuses around the nation. For now, I'm going to stick to writing as usual and mocking white (sorry, I really should say caucasian) kids dancing like they're possessed in Oxford bars. I'll try and keep the blog updated every few days so as not to starve the needy. If I haven't posted for a period of time, please notify my lovely parents that their son is missing or on a nasty bender.

Cheers kids