City Council Meeting

I was listening to a city council meeting on the radio this morning, and the discussion was  about  increased funding for health services in Dallas.  An advocate for more funding was speaking to the council, and asked “Have you ever went to the doctor and had him  say ‘I cain’t he’p you no more.’”  If a doctor expressed things that way to me I might be looking for a new physician. 

A Barnes and Noble Morning

Three days ago I was browsing in the humor section at our local Barnes and Noble bookstore.   I came across a book with an intriguing title, something like Farts: A Spotter’s Guide.  Mildly bemused,  I picked up the book and absently pressed the number 1 on a plastic box attached to the book (there were nine buttons, identified by number).  Now Barnes and Noble is pretty quiet most of the time, sort of a library-like environment.  I soon learned that the buttons represented various types of gas expellations, grouped into categories.  Option 1 must have been the loudest and longest, because when it began to sound, it went on for what seemed like an eternity.  Fortunately the bookstore was not crowded this particular morning, but a middle-aged couple across the shoulder-high shelves  looked up in surprise when the sound began, then walked away, not quickly but deliberately.  I wanted to hold up the book and say something like  “Pretty funny, huh?” but thought it too awkward.  I managed to get away from the area unnoticed  (I think)  before the children’s story time began. 

High School Reunion

Over the past weekend I attended a 50th high school reunion.  Actually it was not my reunion, but the class one year before (same high school).  I went as a warm-up for my own reunion next year.  In the afternoon we had a tour of the high school, led by the principal, who barely looked old enough to drive.  I remember our stern old principal  looked like Abraham Lincoln, tall, lanky, and humorless.  The school looked pretty much the same, but it sure seemed smaller than I remember it.  My old home room looked absolutely tiny.  I went with another chum from my same class in high school, and he happened to be driving his DAUGHTER’S Maserati.  The car attracted quite a bit of attention from the current students, who were milling around the whole time we were on tour.   One of the big differences between then and now is that now the inner campus is behind iron gates, I guess to prevent vandalism.   Also, parking is impossible without a permit.  In our day we could drive up right to the building and always find a space.  We met in the auditorium to begin the orientation, and I noticed that the seats must have been replaced with smaller ones, since they were much more snug than I remember them.  At night we had a reception at a restaurant  in Ridglea on the patio.  Everyone had name tags with a picture unless he or she was a spouse or crasher, as we were.  People walked around all evening looking at name tags, and usually ignored those with just names and no pictures.  I saw one “kid” I remember as a husky football player (a center), who wore overalls this particular  evening and was all bent over with a cane.  Not much of a threat any more.  It seemed that a lot of the class had memory problems.  I was talking with a couple of them  about the old days at the clubs on the Jacksboro Highway.  One of them kept calling it the Jacksonville Highway.  I also met another woman from my class of 1960 who happened to be married to a member of this class of 1959.  She did not seem to remember me, even though we were in the same home room for three years.  I think her memory was failing, because she mentioned that several people were in our home room that I knew were not.  I chose not to argue the point, however, since she had pretty much lost her looks and was not that pleasant to chat with anyway.  After about an hour and a half, we left.  As I looked back at the group, I felt that I was leaving some kind of lobby party at a retirement home. 

Hero of North Dallas

The other night I saved a life.  I was taking my usual midnight walk when I felt a nudge on the rear of my leg.  I looked back to see a large gray dog following me.  He had a collar, so I knew he was not a feral animal.  Since  cars drive at ridiculous speeds on the street where I was walking,  I tried to catch the dog by the collar, but he thought we were playing a game and ran away.  I saw him run behind some bushes as a car came speeding from the distance.  Since I couldn’t catch him,  I held up my hand in a universal gesture of “stop” to the car.  The two people in the car did not stop, however, and the dog ran directly out in front of them as they passed.  They swerved, and missed him by about a foot.  I knew something had to be done and quick, so I got up in the yard away from the street and started running along, hoping the dog would follow.  Sure enough, he thought we were playing and chased me.  Finally I grabbed him by the collar and did not let go until we got to my house.   I called the number listed on his tag, but only got a message telling me to put in my password to proceed.  Thwarted at that turn, I decided to play host for the evening.  I made a dog bed outside, provided water and snacks, and planned to find the owner the next day.  About midnight the doorbell rang, and my next door neighbor said that his dog was in my yard.  I had never seen his dog, but had on occasion heard him (the dog) barking.  I  told the owner that  I had found the dog on the street and had put him up until I could find the owner. I gave him no details about the near death experience.  He said that he had had the dog for several years, but that it had gotten out while he was at the hospital with his wife, who had given birth that night.  I casually gave him back the dog, and decided not to tell him about the extremely close call.  I figured that would be  my unacknowledged “baby gift.”  I felt pretty proud of myself for my heroism that evening, and only regretted that CNN and/or FOX could not have been there for interviews.

P.S.  Some of you have called me asking for autographs.  I do plan an autograph session as soon as I  locate a venue that can handle the crowds.  I will invite all my female readership between ages 25-35 (no fatties, please).  Stay tuned for further information.

Farrah

In the fall of 1965, my wife happened to renew an acquaintance with a female student from her hometown, who was then an undergraduate at The University of Texas.  One day we drove this student back  to her dorm, and she told me that she wanted me to meet her suite mate from Corpus Christi.  For want of a better option, I agreed and went inside to the waiting room.   A few minutes later she came down with Farrah Fawcett.  Immediately I fantasized about whether I could annul my recent marriage, or simply run off as the South Carolina governor did recently.  To put it mildly, Farrah was a knockout!  I  knew it was important to say just the right thing,  but I was having a problem since my spine was beginning to give way,  and I feared I might double over.  When Farrah said “Hi, Jimmy,”  I looked around the room for an oxygen tank (not very common in a college dorm, but I’ve seen a lot since).   Anyway, I recovered quickly and responded coolly ” Hello there, Blondie.”  Actually I think I just made a sound, not really a word.  Farrah never did call after that,  so I decided to play it cool myself.  I hear she later found happiness for a few years with Lee Majors, but I’m sorry she died never really knowing what she missed.

A Summer at Lander

I taught English in summer school at Lander College, Greenwood, South Carolina,  in 1973.  Lander had the distinction of being the only four-year liberal arts college in the United States that was supported by a county. Greenwood Mills, the local textile mill, was the main financial contributor.  Unfortunately the support was not particularly strong, and as a result the College was not in very good shape, financially or physically.  Since few of the buildings were air conditioned,  when I showed up for the first class day,  I learned that our class was to be held in the Men’s Room in the Gym.  This was one of the few buildings that had an adequate air conditioning system.  The room we were assigned was the men’s  locker room, which connected to the showers and stalls by an opening but no door.  All the chairs faced that opening.  As I came in the room, the class was almost filled.  Suddenly we heard a flush and an opening stall door.  I still remember that student coming out to find a room full of people, male and female, sitting in chairs facing him.  I decided to move the class outside to the bleachers on the soccer field, where me met for the rest of the summer.

Police Woman

While I was on the campus at the nearby University of Texas at Dallas,  I chanced to speak with a female police officer controlling the traffic in and out of the campus.  I asked her if there was much crime around the campus, since we never heard much about goings on around the area.  “Not much happens around here,” she said. “Every once in a while we get a weenie wagger, but that’s about it. “  Unsure of what to respond,  I thanked her for the update and went on my way.

The Dead

I recently went through my high school year book, the 1959 Jacket Journal, and matched the pictures to the obituary for that year  listed on the  Arlington Heights High School web site.  I came up with some interesting observations.  First, each page has 7 rows of pictures, with 8 pictures on each row.  Immediately below the top row is a saying which stretches across the entire 2 page fold.  Among those sayings are “Juniors Prepare to Become Seniors of Tomorrow” and “Senior Rings Make Juniors’ Fairy Tale Come True.”  You DO NOT want the be pictured on the top row. There are a total of 13 deceased classmates pictured on the top row, and only 18 total on the five rows below. In other words, 1/6 of the total number of pictures on the page constitute 13/18 of the total of the deceased on the page.  Over 70% of the dead members of the class to date are pictured on the top row.  Unfortunately my picture is on the top row.  To make matters worse, 3 of the deceased are pictured on the far right of the top row.  To put it another way, roughly 4% of the deceased occupy the far right portion of the top row–my spot.  I also noted that the male-female ratio is almost 50-50, with about 2 more males than females going to “Yellow Jacket Heaven.”   I also noted that there was a slightly larger number of  male deceased wearing light, solid colors in the photographs.  The edge among the female deceased went to patterned blouses.  Only one of the deceased wore glasses. Three of the males had “flat top” haircuts.  I can not do anything about my photograph placement, but from now on I am going to wear dark colors,  glasses,  and have long hair to improve my chances of survival.

There for you

I almost forgot one of my favorite lines from an old Jerry Springer show.  Trailer park  husband and wife are arguing because he has brought home a new girlfriend.  The wife, upset at the philandering,  says that she has always “been there” for her husband.  Angry husband responds ” Oh yeah,  well where was you when I needed somebody to bail me out of jail over Christmas?”

World’s Worst Excuse

Just watched an episode of World’s Wildest Police Videos.  Cops stop a car with 2 scummy characters in it.  They search the car and remove what amounts to a complete portable meth lab, with beakers, ether bottles, and all kinds of equipment.  Cops  put it all  on the hood in front of the dash cam, and ask one of the handcuffed felons what all that equipment is for.  The guy answers that he doesn’t know, that he bought the stuff  at an “antique store.”